


East and West, or a story about pride and prejudice

by miss_Carrot



Category: North and South - Elizabeth Gaskell | UK TV, The Hobbit (2012), The Hobbit - All Media Types
Genre: Alternate Universe - Fusion, Alternate Universe - Gender Changes, Community: hobbit_kink, Crossover, F/M, Gen, Genderswap, Rule 63, Women Being Awesome
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2013-02-21
Updated: 2014-01-23
Packaged: 2017-12-03 03:38:30
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 7
Words: 24,237
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/693676
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/miss_Carrot/pseuds/miss_Carrot
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              
<p></p><div class="align-justify">
  <p>Having left her home in the tranquil rural Hobbiton, miss Bluebell Baggins is forced to settle with her mother Belladonna in the Royal Mine of Erebor, far in the wild East. There all her ideas on the Easterners clash with the harsh reality of industrial world and she struggles to find her place among the dwarves living there. Sympathising with the miners whose tenacity she admires, Bluebell finds herself constantly fighting with the most vain, despicable creature she has ever met - Thorin Oakenshield, the King under the Mountain and owner of the Royal Mine. It is his greed and contempt for his workers that cause all the problems in Erebor. </p>
  <p>Or so it seems at first.</p>
</div>
            </blockquote>





	1. In which we meet Bluebell, Belladonna and other important figures whose names start with “B”

**Author's Note:**

> Disclaimer: I own nothing and am making no profit from this story. All characters and concepts used belong to their rightful owners.
> 
> In-progress fill for a prompt on the Hobbit Kink Meme: "Thorin Oakenshield is the owner of a cotton factory in Erebor. Bilbo Baggins is recently displaced out of Hobbiton. They dislike each other at first, but Thorin grows to love Bilbo. After many misunderstandings, they finally find each other. Dis as the Mrs. Thornton character (but not his mother) and Fili and Kili as his sister's character (but not his siblings) a huge plus. Other characters up to the author." (http://hobbit-kink.livejournal.com/4373.html?thread=8711957#t8711957)
> 
> I treated the original prompt quite loosely and I am not sure whether it should be considered as an actual fill, but I was certainly inspired. I hope that the OP doesn't mind my changes too much - I didn't mean to destroy the prompt, I swear. I promise that there will be romance and a lot of angsty feelings, but I just couldn't resist to add a bit of Dr. Quinn, Beauty and the Beast, inflation of gold currency, family drama and racial stereotypes to the mixture. Oh, and here (will) be dragons!
> 
> I'd like to express my thanks for my two betas, manarai and Indileen, who turned my pidgin into English. Thanks, girls, you're awesome! <3 All the remaining errors are mine and I'll be very grateful for pointing them out.
> 
> More tags will be added when necessary.

“How far is it from here?” Belladonna shifted in her seat for the thousandth time today, shuddering as she eyed the gloomy mountain hanging over them as a storm cloud. “What do you think, Bell, honey, can we manage it still today?”

“Not so far yet,” answered Bluebell, for the thousandth time as well, trying to look at the map and at the surroundings simultaneously. “But we will have to stop in Dale, I’m afraid.”

The road was incredibly bendy and rocky, with patches of sharp stones and deep holes here and there. Bluebell raised her eyes from the map and spotted the dangerous crack in the path in the very last moment. She tugged the reins her mother was holding and clucked on the pony. “Now steady! Mum, look at the road, please! We don’t want Dixon to lose a shoe, do we?”

“No, Bell, honey, I don’t think so...” Belladonna answered absent-mindedly, eyes still fixed on the mountain. She was smiling, her cheeks rosy from excitation. Bluebell sighed and tugged the reins again, this time to manoeuvre between two enormous boulders.

“We’ll find an inn in Dale for a night. But I do hope that they found us a good place to live in Erebor. And big enough,” she added, looking over her shoulder at the humongous pile of instruments, pipes, scrolls, pots and weird metal gizmos squeezed on the cart.

Bluebell hoped for it not only because she didn’t want to sleep with a cauldron or a pipe under her head. She really wanted mum and her craft to be appreciated and admired, as they truly deserved to be. Mum was so excited about their move to Erebor and about the new possibilities. _It is a real opportunity for us_ , she said, _a chance to spread our wings, Bell, honey_. She definitely could bring much into Erebor. Bluebell just wished that the folk here was more open-minded that these fools in Hobbiton. If the Thain only gave them the last chance, she thought for thousand-first time today, and shifted in her seat. The tiniest, last chance. They wouldn’t have to leave Shire, they would...

The cart jumped on a stone, Dixon whined and Bluebell shook her head, casting the silly thoughts away. Dwelling had no sense and would not bring them back to Hobbiton. Now they had to thrive in this dark, lonely mountain in the cursed by Iluvatar, cold, wild East. In Erebor.

*

Dark and towering as it was, Erebor was impressive, with its great gate carved in mountain wall and two mighty stone dwarves guarding the entrance. Bluebell had to admit that, however reluctantly. Dixon seemed to share her objections, as she looked at the rocky path before her very cautiously and snorted often. Belladonna, however, was absolutely thrilled. When their cracking cart finally reached the gate, she was almost beyond herself with excitation.

“Good day, noble warriors!”, exclaimed she to the group of guards standing before the gate, waving her hand with smile. The dwarves looked at her suspiciously, and two of them approached Belladonna and Bluebell.

“Who are you and what business do you have in the Royal Mine of Erebor... er... miss...?” The last part was added in less secure voice, as if the dwarf guard was not sure about the gender. Now, that should not be surprising at all, Bluebell thought with a grimace, as there are no dwarf women, everyone knows that. It is a real miracle that the proper forms are known here.

“I am Belladonna Baggins, and this is my daughter Bluebell.” Belladonna did not seem to lose her cheer. She looked at her daughter and gave the guards a dashing smile. “I am here on request of Lord Balin, son of Fundin, to be the chief engineer of the Royal Mine of Erebor.”

“Belladonna Baggins...?” The guard was visibly surprised under the dark beard, and turned to the other one. “Have you heard about this?” They both shrugged and shouted the same question to the rest of the dwarves, but nobody knew anything about Belladonna’s arrival. “Well, miss. I’m sorry, but we weren’t informed, and we can’t just let you in.”

“But I have a letter with invitation from Lord Balin himself!”, Belladonna argued. She started to fidget in her seat, clearly nervous. Bluebell let out a grave sigh and squeezed her mother’s arm affectionately. Poor mum, after all this nasty business in the Shire and the endless road into the East she had to deal with these stupid dwarves and their idiotic procedures. “Look, you can check it yourself!”

With some fumbling and grumbling Belladonna produced a carefully folded paper from one of her capacious pockets. Dwarves took it and studied for a while in reverent silence, eyeing the great red seals below the tiny, angular script.

“It seems that there is an invitation, yes,” agreed one of them after a while. “But it is for a mister Belladorn Baggins from the Shire, miss. You still can’t enter.”

“But that’s certainly a misspelling!”, Belladonna insisted, jumping on her seat. Her good mood and calm were gone. Bluebell squeezed her arm once again and felt that her mother is trembling with nerves. If this show is going to take just five minutes longer, I’ll scream, decided Bluebell with a grim smile.

“There is not any Belladorn Baggins in the Shire, good sirs! It must be a mistake,” mother explained.

“Well, miss, I am still not... ”

“There is not any Belladorn Baggins at all!”, Bluebell interrupted, her voice so high, that Dixon squealed and pricked her ears, and her mother gave her a confused look. “You write us a misspelled invitation, we leave our home nevertheless, travel for a whole month on these horrid roads, come here to you and now you won’t let us in?!” She felt her cheeks turn red as she spoke to the stunned dwarves, still in this high-pitched voice. Ah, the tiny pieces in which she would tear them in, just to make the road free… but she was definitely too weak for that. Today she ate only one breakfast, and a disappointingly small one at that. “Take us to your leader,” she said instead, rising her chin.

And then she earned The Look. Her mother, a sweet, absent-minded creature who wouldn’t give a proper lecture on manners even if she wanted to, could hush her daughter with her eyes only. When she looked at Bluebell with a mixture of shock, sadness and disappointment on her face, exactly like she did now, Bluebell stopped her actions straightaway. If there was anything that she wanted to avoid in her life, it was hurting her mum. And now, after all these terrible things which happened to them, she did upset her. The Look was unbearable.

“I... er... I’m sorry. I’m very, very sorry,” she said much quieter, feeling her cheeks turn even redder than before. “I didn’t mean to shout at you. I was extremely impolite. I can offer you no excuse for my unforgivable behaviour, but I can assure you that it will not happen again, I...”

“Now, now,” interrupted the guard with a dismissive wave of hand. The other just gave a snort of laugh. “Apology accepted.”

“So, will you let us in?” Bluebell asked quickly, sporting a bright, fake smile. “Just to, er, clarify the issue with Lord Balin. Please,” she added, smiling even wider.

“By Durin’s name, let them in!”, shouted somebody from behind. Bluebell and Belladonna turned and saw several dwarves impatiently waiting for the entrance. The nearest one, dressed in a fine brown cloak trimmed with fur, gestured towards the growing crowd. “You are making a  _queue_!”

Other dwarves supported the request, adding something about inexperienced younglings and showing-off. The guards looked at each other and shrugged almost simultaneously.

“I’ll walk you in,” said one of them finally. “But you must leave your pony and your belongings here, for now.”

Bluebell wanted to protest and her mother surely wasn’t pleased to leave poor Dixon and all her precious instruments under care of the dwarves, who were not particularly happy about it as well, but they had no choice. The guard who spoke with them before beckoned to Belladonna and started to walk quickly towards the entrance. They could but follow the dwarf into an enormous, dark vestibule. Bluebell felt a sudden chill creeping up her spine and gooseflesh appearing on her arms. The vestibule was full of dwarves rushing here and there, carrying things and shouting at each other impatiently. But apart from that she heard something else, like a distant heartbeat. It was like entering someone’s belly.

“Do you hear it?”, asked Belladonna with shining eyes, excited again. Relieved that she was forgiven already, Bluebell nodded. “It’s a thrill, isn’t it?”

It’s positively _creepy_ , if you’d ask me, Bluebell thought to herself, but didn’t say it aloud. Instead she sped up and turned her head to the guard. It wasn’t wise to start a new life making enemies and the dwarves tend to hold grudge for decades or even centuries, if the offence is not amended properly, everyone knows that.

“I’m really sorry I shouted at you,” she said, looking up. Not that she could see much in the darkness, and the dwarf had hair on the whole face anyway, but she tried to made eye contact. “I mean it.”

“And I mean what I said, miss. Apology accepted.” The guard smiled and turned suddenly in a much narrower hall. “But I have to perform my duty, you understand that. And I’m not inexperienced!”

“But of course not, sir,” said Belladonna kindly, but her voice was slightly unsure. The hall was dark as a grave, they barely saw each other and their guide. Bluebell slowed her pace and grabbed her hand. Mother squeaked quietly and Bluebell felt herself reassured that she wasn’t the only one who was scared out.

“But I’m not a _sir_ , miss”, the guard laughed. The echo of the sound filled the hall. “I am Birgrid, daughter of Bombur. At your service”, she added with a short nod, indicated by clanking of beads in her beard.

“It’s a pleasure to meet you, miss Birgrid,” replied Belladonna, as if nothing had happened. That was _incomprehensive_.

“Wait. What?,” Bluebell demanded, stopping abruptly. “What do you mean, a daughter, like... a daughter?”

“Like a female child to their parents. Much like you, I imagine.”

“But...”

“Bell. _Honey_ ,” Belladonna hissed warningly. Under other circumstances Bluebell would have held her tongue, but today was not this day. Today the very foundations of the universe shifted.

“But you are a dwarf!”, she blurted out. “A _dwarf_!”

“And you are a hobbit. We dwarves spring out of earth as much as you hobbits find your children in cabbage patches,” Birgrid added with a chuckle.

“But we do!” Bluebell exclaimed, utterly confused. She heard it so many times from so many hobbits that she had not the slightest doubt about it. She even read about the cabbage patches in a book or two. Now, in the more sophisticated literature a woman would rather ‘find herself with a baby’, but you can’t expect a cabbage patch to be mentioned in a romantic ballad or in a chronicle. “Don’t we, mum?”

“Bell, honey, I don’t think it is the best place to discuss this topic,” Belladonna said, clearing her throat. She urged her still deeply flummoxed daughter to resume walking. “But we would be delighted to chat about it during a low tea someday, when everything is settled. If you would like to visit us, of course, miss Birgrid,” she added. Birgrid nodded again, metal beads clinging softly.

Finally they reached their destination. Birgrid knocked soundly, waited for a muffled _Come in!_ and entered the room. After the darkness of the hall, warm light of numerous candles and torches was almost blinding. Belladonna and Bluebell stepped in, blinking rapidly.

“My lord, may I present to you Belladonna Baggins and her daughter Bluebell,” said Birgrid in a very official tone, standing bolt upright. Bluebell curtsied and saw that the dwarf lord bowed his head slightly. “They claim to have your invitation to settle in the Royal Mine, but there is some misunderstanding regarding the letter.”

“I can believe that”, the lord exclaimed. Now, when her eyes accommodated to the light again, Bluebell could see that he was very old, with long white beard and a mane of silver hair. His voice was a bit creaky, but he smiled at them kindly. “I remember writing an invitation for Belladorn, a gentle hobbit from the Shire, and certainly not for any ladies. Thank you, lassie, you may return to the gate,” he said, waving at Birgrid, who bowed silently and quickly left. “Now tell me, ladies, who are you and what have you done with master Belladorn?”

“There is no Belladorn, and never has been,” assured Belladonna, and started to explain her situation from the beginning, gesticulating wildly. Yes, it was she who answered the advertisement, it was her own machinery design which she submitted, she was a capable engineer and really wanted to settle down here and start modernisation works in the Mine as soon as possible. Today would be perfect; she was ready to work just after a quick brunch. Which she can well eat underway, if need be.

“Well, in this case I consider the matter settled,” said lord Balin, stroking his long beard pensively. “But you must forgive me my doubts, madam. After all these horrid things we hear about Westerners and their unkind practices towards women, meeting a well-educated lady, an engineer at that, seems unbelievable.”

Bluebell certainly wanted to deny these accusations, which in mouth of a savage from the East were not only insults, but an absurd as well, she however decided not to voice any protests. Making an enemy of him by pointing out his errors in the very first meeting wouldn’t probably be forgiven so easily as in case of Birgrid. Bowing her head to hide a scowl, she followed quietly behind her mother and the lord. Balin decided to inform the King under the Mountain personally that the new chief engineer had just arrived and show hobbits the entrance to the Mine. As he assured Belladonna, His Majesty was very impressed by her designs and is almost as eager to start the modernisation works as she is. Belladonna showered the dwarf lord with her plans and projects, talking so quickly that it was hard to follow even for a person as accustomed to it as Bluebell was. But lord Balin expressed a genuine interest and spoke to Belladonna reverently, so there was hope that her mum will be as appreciated here as she definitely deserved.

“And here we are – it is the main entrance to the Royal Mine of Erebor.” Balin gestured proudly towards a gate beautifully carved in greenish stone. Behind it Bluebell could see a long vestibule and numerous staircases leading down, into the deeps of the mine. Many torches lighted the place and if she squinted, she could see a delicate, warm glow of gold veins in the stone walls. The immensity of the place was overwhelming, but it was beautiful too, in a strange, exotic way. The constant drumming, however, was terrifying.

“Elevators,” Belladonna murmured to herself, casting quick looks to each bend in the stone walls, each staircase and each dwarf climbing the stairs or rushing down them. Bluebell could but smile – her mother was in her element again. “We could start with that.”

“That certainly would be…” started Balin, but there was an unexpected commotion in the further part of the vestibule.

Low, angry shouts echoed through the room, which suddenly became much quieter. Dwarves slowed down and shoved themselves towards the walls, making the way for a tall, richly dressed dwarf who dragged another one, clearly a miner, behind him, cursing him to bits. All colour vanished from lord Balin’s face as he rushed towards the shouting dwarf. Bluebell and Belladonna followed him, scared and confused.

“May the Creator send a sudden death upon you and your kin!” The dwarf cursed furiously, throwing the miner on the floor. Then, to Bluebell’s horror, he kicked the trembling, howling creature in the belly. And again, and again. “You will not enter the Mine again. You are banished from Erebor, Gunnir, son of Wundir! Out with you!” He punctuated each sentence with a series of brutal kicks. The poor creature on the floor, bleeding and shuddering, and begging for mercy, crawled away from the hits, but it didn’t stop the dwarf. Lord Balin approached him, keeping a safe distance, and tried to say something in a calming voice, but it didn’t help either.

“Please,” cried the miner in the most heart-breaking voice. “I won’t… I won’t ever…!”

_“Out!”_ The following hit was so strong that the miner uttered a terrifying, wild howl of pain.

Bluebell, until now petrified from horror, woke up from her stupor. Without any thought she run towards the miner and stood between him and his maddened tormentor.

“Stop!” she shouted, shielding the miner with her own body. Her vision was blurred from rage and tears she didn’t know she had shed, but she could see that the dwarf took a step back, shocked with her presence. “Don’t you dare touch him…!”

“Who are you?!” the dwarf demanded, bending towards her, his face was distorted with anger like an orc’s mug. “Do you know who you are standing up to?!”

She raised her chin and looked straight in these mad, glaring eyes of his.

“I am Bluebell Baggins from the Shire. And you are a monster.”


	2. In which there are a bunch of rules, a lot of shouting and an infinity of stairs

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you all a lot for your kind comments, kudos and support! It means really a lot to me, I must say I didn't expect such a positive response to my story. I promise I'll do my best with it!
> 
> Again, I'd like to thank my two betas, manarai and Indileen, who turned my poor English into something understandable. All the remaining errors are mine and I'll be very grateful for pointing them out.
> 
> Any similarities to Terry Pratchett's "Discworld" series are utterly accidental.
> 
> And, by the way, can you see the chapters' titles? I, for some reason, cannot, which is quite unnerving. There are titles, you know, intended to be funny. I hope that AO3 isn't eating them and it's just my old PC and its tricks.

„Balin,” growled the dwarf after a several heartbeats which seemed to last forever. He did not move his eyes from Bluebell’s face. “Take this girl out of my sight.”

“At once, sir.” Balin approached her and laid his hand on her shoulder, gently but firmly. “You’d better come, lassie,” he urged, but Bluebell shook her head. She didn’t dare to move, because if she did, this madman would attack the miner again. She was sure of it.

“And this pathetic sod, too.” With that the tall dwarf turned and strode off. His steps echoed through the vestibule which was as silent as a grave.

Not until he disappeared down the stairs did the usual commotion resume. No one, however, dared to come near Gunnir, son of Wundir, who was lying on the floor trembling and whimpering. Bluebell wanted to kneel beside him and help him somehow, but lord Balin didn’t allow her to and pulled her aside, more firmly this time.

“Don’t do it, or you’ll find yourself in a great trouble, lassie. This dwarf doesn’t belong here anymore.” He urged her to go towards Belladonna and then guided them out of the Mine.

Bluebell grabbed her mother’s hand and gave it a strong squeeze. Belladonna looked her and smiled faintly, but her face was paper-white and her eyes wide and darkened from shock, sorrow and fear. Not trusting her voice, Bluebell just touched the upturned tip of her nose with her thumb. It was one of their secret signs, invented and practised together from her earliest childhood. _Chin up_ , it said, _everything will be all right._ Much to Bluebell’s relief, her mother mimicked the gesture and smiled a bit wider.

“What will happen to him?” Belladonna asked after a while. Balin sighed and looked at her with a serious expression on his face.

“He is exiled from Erebor. He must leave immediately and never come back.” He sighed again and pressed his lips together, clearly not willing to go into further details. Belladonna, however, insisted.

“And his family?”

“They may leave with him or stay here, as they choose. It’s their right, as it is any dwarf’s in this realm, and they have done nothing wrong to have it withdrawn from them.” The lord looked like he wanted to say something more, something that must have been very bitter, judging by his deep frown and grim face. But he saw Belladonna nod in acceptance and remained silent.

“And the miner? What did he do to deserve such pain and humiliation? Was it so terrible?” Bluebell pressed. She felt her anger rising again, colouring her cheeks bright red. “Did he kill anybody?!”

“He could have,” answered Balin quietly, much to her shock. She expected anything but confirmation and now was too surprised to react. After a while, he continued in the same low voice. “I haven’t heard the whole tale yet, but I have every reason to believe that he used an open fire in a new corridor he was drilling. The air there wasn’t properly checked and it hasn’t got the right ventilation yet. Should there be any flammable gases, which happen to be in mines more often than not, he could kill tens if not hundreds of miners.”

Bluebell hadn’t got much knowledge about mining and its dangers, but this explanation made perfect sense. Yet she couldn’t forget the sight of the poor creature, shivering on the floor and howling in pain.

“But… you surely could explain it to him, like you do to me now, sir. If you put it in plain words, I’m sure he would…”

“We did,” he interrupted crossly, clearly insulted by her suggestion. “As we do to each and every person who goes down the Mine. But he chose not to follow the instructions and now he has consequences to bear with. It’s a law that we all are bound with, miss Baggins, from the king himself to the poorest of miners. We are not monsters here,” he added coldly.

Bluebell could but bow her head and whisper her apologies, but Balin just nodded without looking at her. This time she wasn’t forgiven, that’s for sure.

“I know that you are acting from your heart,” the lord said after a while in calmer voice. He faced Bluebell and there wasn’t bitterness on his face anymore, but there was no warm kindness from before, either. “And I am aware that you need your time to adjust in a new place. But please don’t jump to conclusions and pass judgements too quickly.”

Even if Balin wasn’t angry, Bluebell could feel that she went a step too far. Not that she changed her mind a bit, because what was done to the poor miner was simply cruel. But she understood that she would need much diplomacy when raising this issue again, what she definitely intended to do. Bluebell really didn’t want to make enemies here. I’ll have to make up for this unfortunate beginning somehow, she decided, looking at the grey head of the dwarf lord. But she hadn’t got the faintest idea of what she could say or do to amend her offence and wasn’t sure if a delicious cake would do as well as in the Shire. Belladonna tried to cheer her up, touching her nose with her thumb, but even she didn’t look to optimistic now.

Before Bluebell came up with something more suitable, they entered the main vestibule which the both hobbits had already visited. Now the place was even more crowded than it was before, and judging by the excited tittle-tattle which was not too discreetly hushed as lord Balin appeared, the news on the exiled miner must have approached the vestibule with a lightning’s speed. The lord however seemed not to care for the spreading gossip. He looked around, fished an unnaturally little dwarf with fiery red hair out of the crowd and made an urging gesture with a hand. The little dwarf – Bluebell observed it conspicuously, wondering if it was a real, actual dwarf-child, a  _dwarfling_ – run towards them, carrying a huge basket.

“Twyla, go to your sister and tell her that the belongings of the chief engineer Baggins and her daughter are to be moved to the blue quarters on the eastern wall of eight terrace,” requested the lord, his face calm and kind again. “Do you know where it is?”

“Aye, my lord,” the dwarf assured with a nod, curtsied and smiled. “Is there anything else, sir?”

Now Bluebell was staring openly, not daring to wink. She forgot about the poor miner, the brutal madman, and the clash with Balin, now completely fascinated with what she saw. It was not only a dwarfling, it was a little dwarf-girl! She had nice round face, eyes like two dark buttons, and a wide nose. On her cheeks and chin there was soft, curly hair, about two inches long and vibrant red in colour.

“No, lassie, thank you,” answered Balin, but Belladonna interrupted.

“Actually, if I may… There is Dixon. Our pony,” she explained with an apologetic smile. “And… and our cart. If I could ask you, dear… I mean, the cart is not a problem at all, but if you could arrange for a nice place for Dixon somewhere, please?”

“Sure, madam,” Twyla curtsied again. She somehow managed to do it gracefully, despite her heavy boots and the big basket she was holding. “I’ll take good care of Dixon, you can count on me.”

“Thank you, miss Twyla.” Belladonna smiled and bowed her head.

_It is unexplainable how easily mum adjusts here_ , Bluebell thought when they started up the wide stone stairs which seemed to have no end. Balin left them there, claiming to be too old for such climbing, and instructed them to go up to the eight terrace and ask for Nís, daughter of Nígir, who keeps the keys for them. So they climbed and climbed, and climbed. After five minutes Bluebell couldn’t catch her breath, and after the next ten minutes she was sure she’d never be able to move her feet again, and after the next while, when they managed it to the first terrace, she just wanted to sit on the floor and weep, but there wasn’t enough air in her lungs for that. Belladonna, who also puffed and huffed, but wasn’t at any rate as exhausted as Bluebell was, just sat by her and nudged her affectionately.

“How do you do it?” Bluebell panted out after a while. Her breath steadied a bit, but she still felt exhausted. The thought of seven more levels to go was as repelling as nothing so far. She dared look up, but the number of stairs just made her feel dizzy. “Have you transformed into a squirrel when I wasn’t looking?”

“I just want to be up there and I go up.” Belladonna’s face brightened with the smile of hers that always made Bluebell feel more adventurous and amicable that she actually was. “You should try it sometimes, Bell, honey. You worry too much about the in-betweens.”

They sat there for a moment longer, not caring much about the puzzled looks and muffled laughs received from dwarves passing by. Finally Bluebell sighed wearily and managed to get up. She couldn’t bring herself to tell her mother that it wasn’t that easy and there must be someone who cares for the everyday needs if she is to spread her wings and fulfil her visions. She hadn’t said it aloud during all these years, so she certainly wouldn’t do it now. She would climb these cursed stairs instead and make sure that her mother wouldn’t faint underway, should her excitement exceed her forces.

An infinity of stairs and sixteen pauses later Bluebell practically crawled onto the eight terrace with a moan of relief and overtiredness. Her mother sat heavily by her and laughed, burying her red, sweaty face in her hands. Bluebell closed her eyes, trying to calm down the tremble of her muscles, and relaxed a bit. I should get up and find the lady with the key, she decided after a while, turning her face to touch the cold stone of the floor with her heated cheek. She knew she should rush and put herself in order, comb her hair and smooth her dress at least. Meeting her new neighbours when she was in such a dramatic state was at least impolite, but even thinking about getting up was too tiresome. Opening her eyes was beyond her for now.

“NOW THERE YOU ARE!” A deafening shout rumbled somewhere above them like a thunder. Bluebell jumped to her feet with her heart pounding in her throat. She heard Belladonna squeak silently, as she always did when a storm was near. Instinctively she caught her mother’s arm and squeezed it softly. It wasn’t a storm approaching, though; it was something more powerful. An elderly dwarf lady – judging from her richly embroidered green dress – was rushing towards them, a bunch of keys in one hand and a big birch broom in the other. “I REALLY THOUGHT YOU GOT LOST ON YOUR WAY,” she shouted again, as mighty as before, even though she was much nearer now.

“No, madam, we managed it somehow, thank you” said Bluebell, much louder and slower than usual, and curtsied. Before she decided whether she should introduce them now, poke her mum to do it or ask about the keys, the lady just reached to her face and wiped her cheek, keys dangling just in front of Bluebell’s nose. Bluebell blinked, too shocked to protest. To treat a stranger in such a bluntly way, it was unimaginable! In the Shire they wouldn’t speak to each other before introduced properly and here she just treated Bluebell as a naughty child.

“BUT NOT WITHOUT PROBLEMS, I CAN SEE,” the elderly lady roared and stepped off. Then she waved at them impatiently. “NOW COME, LASSIES, I WANT TO SHOW YOU AROUND, BUT I DON’T HAVE THE WHOLE DAY!” She flung a broom on her shoulder and went off, so Bluebell and Belladonna could but follow her, casting confused looks at each other.

The hall they were in was broad and high, and full of echoes of clapping sounds their bare feet made on the stone floor. On the one side it was bordered with an elaborately carved balustrade, through which one could see the damned stairs and the lower terraces. On the other there were stone houses glued to the mountain wall, most of them quite big and richly decorated in carvings and sculptures as well. If Bluebell squinted, they could look almost like the hobbit holes, save the gardens, but they were inside a mountain after all. There were a lot of torch stands in front of each house and on the hall as well, but the fires were not lit yet. The only light came from long crevices in the mountain walls, situated between and above the houses, which probably have been glazed with something that gave the light a warm, yellowish hue. When her eyes adjusted to the semidarkness, Bluebell could see dwarvish faces peeking out of the small windows of the stone houses.

“HERE WE ARE!” exclaimed the dwarf lady, gesturing towards a house in front of them. It was similar to the surrounding ones, but a bit less decorated. It had, however, three glazed crevices just above its roof, so it was relatively bright in here. “NOW, THERE ARE THE KEYS…” The lady handed them towards Bluebell, but hesitated. “BUT YOU ARE THE ADULT ONE, AREN’T YOU?”

“No, actually I am the mother, madam,” Belladonna answered, using the same slow and loud voice which Bluebell did before. “I am sorry not to have introduced us properly. My name is…”

“BUT I KNOW WHO YOU ARE!” Interrupted the dwarf lady, waving impatiently again. “I KNOW YOUR NAMES, I JUST DON’T KNOW WHICH ONE IS WHICH. IT’S HARD TO GUESS WITHOUT A BEARD,” she admitted with a small shrug and an apologetic smile which made her wrinkles deepen. “I AM NÍS, DAUGHTER OF NÍGIR, BUT YOU SURELY KNOW THAT, TOO. NOW,” she said, pressing the keys into Belladonna’s hands. “GO AND OPEN IT, LASSIE. I REALLY MUST GO BACK HOME SOON.”

The door creaked and was a bit heavy. They went inside to take a quick look on the interior, but just behind the front door laid the pile of their things, unloaded from the cart. It must have appeared there by miracle, since Bluebell didn’t see anyone carrying them up the stairs. She bypassed it as carefully as she could, and looked around. There were several rooms, big and quite empty, though equipped with the necessary furniture. Much to her relief, there were several “windows” in each wall, similar to the ones in the hall, but smaller and narrower. They won’t have to struggle in complete darkness, then. Bluebell looked at the sturdy furnishings, too big for any of them, and at the empty walls, decorated only with blue veins visible on the stone surface. Then she thought about the cosiness of their hobbit hole, about all the rugs and cushions and doilies and upholstered armchairs and tiny pictures on the walls, and she couldn’t resist a regretful sigh. Behind her, Belladonna sighed too, but with a relief. All her precious instruments, papers and tools were in place and undamaged.

“IF EVERYTHING IS ALL RIGHT, COME WITH ME, LASSIES.”

They both jumped and looked around at Nís with wide eyes. Bluebell was quite sure that the glass in the windows shivered with a clink. They followed the dwarf lady to the front door. There she gestured to the surrounding houses with a serious face.

“IT IS A RESPECTABLE NEIGHBOURHOOD,” she explained with audible pride in her voice. “AND WE WANT TO KEEP IT THIS WAY. WE WOULD PREFER NOT TO BE EXPOSED TO ANY NOISES AFTER NIGHTFALL AND TO UNNECESSARY FOREIGN PECULIARITIES. WE GREET OUR NEIGHBOURS, WE KEEP OUR YARDS CLEAN AND WE DON’T WANDER TO WHERE WE ARE NOT INIVTED. AND YOU ARE REQUESTED TO ACT THE SAME WAY.”

The echo of the lecture was ringing in Bluebell’s ears. She could feel her face colour up again, and her fists ball. What was the old hag thinking?! That they were some sort of savages who didn’t know how to behave? It wasn’t them who couldn’t write a letter without a misspelling, had beaten a fellow unconscious or touched strangers uninvited. Absurdity! Now it was the old hag’s time to listen to a lecture. Bluebell thought of her father for an inspiration and took a deep breath.

“That’s a relief,” said Belladonna with a warm smile. “Because it is exactly what we do.”

Both Nís and Bluebell stared at her with disbelief. The dwarf however reacted quicker and made the same small shrug as before. _We’ll see_ , it seemed to say. Bluebell just puffed with irritation as she saw it.

“I CERTAINLY HOPE SO. BUT THERE IS ONE MORE THING. THE CARE WEEK.” Nís hesitated for a moment and then handed the birch broom to Bluebell. It was big and heavy, as everything here. “YOU ARE RESPONSIBLE FOR KEEPING YOUR PART OF THE COMMON HALL TIDY. THE EASTERN HALL,” she made a wide gesture, from a dim-lit corner to a far end of the corridor, “IS TO BE SWEPT, ALL TRASH TO BE DISPOSED OF AND ALL WINDOWS ARE TO BE CLEANED. THERE ARE NINE HOUSEHOLDS, BUT BALDIR IS TOO OLD TO HELP, SO YOUR TURN FALLS EVERY EIGHT WEEKS. I SWEPT THE HALL FOR YOU TODAY MORNING, BUT IN THE NEXT SIX DAYS YOU MUST TAKE CARE OF IT. IS IT CLEAR?”

“Of course, madam,” agreed Bluebell weakly, but quickly repeated it much louder. Nís didn’t seem convinced, but she couldn’t care less. She was angry and tired, and from the constant shouts she got a piercing headache. “Thank you for explaining it to us. I assure you, we’ll do our best.” She wanted to fling the broom just as the dwarf did before, but it was way too heavy, so she just shifted it from hand to hand.

“IF YOU HAVE ANY QUESTION, JUST COME AND ASK. I LIVE IN THE WESTERN HALL.” She pointed into the darkness, somewhere over the balustrade. Bluebell squinted, but couldn’t see anything. “IN A BIG GREY HOUSE. IT HAS A SIGN OVER THE FRONT DOOR…” Nís paused, frowned and then started to draw something on her palm. “IT SAYS ‘APOTHECARY’, SO THE FIRST RUNE LOOKS LIKE A SMALL PONY, THE SECOND LIKE AN AXE…”

Now, that was a bit too far.

“Thank you, madam, but I know my Cirth very well!” Bluebell shouted. Her mum cast a quick look at her and suppressed a snort of laughter.

“YOU DO? BUT YOU COME FROM THE WEST, DON’T YOU? NOW THAT’S A SIGHT!” The old lady shook her head with disbelief, but smiled. Bluebell’s outburst seemed to warm her up. “IN THIS CASE, YOU’LL FIND ME WITHOUT TROUBLE. JUST PLEASE KNOCK LOUDLY,” she added, walking out of the yard. “MY HUSBAND, ÓIN, IS HARD OF HEARING, YOU SEE, AND I MAY BE IN THE BACKROOMS. GOOD DAY, LASSIES.”

It took rest of her psychical strength not to stick out her tongue at Nís, daughter of Nígir, who strode with dignity through the hall. Bluebell looked at her mother, who offered her a weak smile, stuffed her cheek with her tongue, which meant that she has something funny to say, and beckoned her head towards the house. They stepped in and dropped heavily on the floor just behind the door. Bluebell buried her face in her hands with a small whimper, Belladonna threw her head back and laughed loudly and somewhat hysterically.

“Her husband… is… hard of… hearing!” she panted after a while, between the waves of laughter. “And works… in… an apothecary! Can you imagine going to such a stone-deaf doctor?” She wiped her eyes with the back of her hand and made a serious face. “What seems to be the trouble, lassie?” she rumbled with a low voice, rolling her palm around her ear. “What? A heart attack or a pain in the back? Say it clearly, lass!” She snorted again, and Bluebell couldn’t hold a giggle. With her mother it was always this way: even in the face of the worst she found something to laugh at and it made Bluebell join in.

They will have to arrange things somehow, prepare a comfortable study for Belladonna, find a market and stock the pantry… But it surely can wait, Bluebell thought, looking at the tired face and tangled hair of her mother, and then at her own feet, as black as the freshly ploughed soil. Now we will just eat something and rest for a while, she decided with a small nod to herself. There should be the rest of biscuits tucked somewhere, and a jar of cherry jelly…

And then there was a quick series of deafening thuds in the door.

“Chief!” shrieked somebody behind them. “Chief engineer Baggins, are you there?”

“Yes, please come in!” answered Belladonna and started to clamber up to her feet.

Bluebell whimpered again and covered her face with her hands, not even bothering to get up. The door swung open and almost hit her. On the threshold stood another dwarfling, much smaller than Twyla and without a beard.

“Chief engineer, his majesty the king requests your presence at the main gate of the Royal Mine, as soon as possible, madam,” blurted out the dwarfling, all this on one breath and a bit muffled due to one front tooth missing. He – or she, hard to guess this time – was certainly very proud of the mission, so he stood bolt upright with a serious look on his round face. “I am to show you the way.”

“Thank you, dear. I’ll just collect the tools…” Belladonna stepped back and leaned over the pile of their possessions, fishing the necessary items out of it. “I’ll need the initial plans and the measuring tapes, and the plumb line…”

“Mum…? But you can’t go like that!”

“Oh dear, you’re right. I’ll need some clean paper and something to write, too! Can you find it in this mess, Bell, honey?” She asked, without raising her head. She picked all the necessary gizmos nervously and stuffed them into the pockets of her coat.

“No, mum, I mean – look at you! You cannot go to the king with your feet like that! It’s _rude!_ ”

Belladonna stopped, blinked and looked at her feet. They were in disastrous state indeed, all black and with tangled hair. She looked at her daughter helplessly, trying to rub one foot on the other to scrape off the dirt, but she managed just to smudge it. Bluebell sighed, got up and drew a small satchel from the pile.

“Now let me help you. You must look splendid on your first day!” she said with more enthusiasm that she actually felt. From the satchel she produced two combs, a washcloth and a scrap of soap. “Where can I find clean water?” she asked the dwarfling.

“In the kitchen, I believe,” he said, eyeing her suspiciously, as if he expected it to be a prank. “But we haven’t got time for that, miss. The king said ‘as soon as possible’, and it means you must run very quickly! Or he’ll be mad!”

“Then let him be mad,” muttered Bluebell and went to the kitchen. There was a pump indeed, so she tore the washcloth into two, watered and soaped the both parts. She handed them to Belladonna, who quickly cleaned her face and hands with one of them and bowed to scrub her feet with the other. In the meantime, Bluebell combed her mum’s hair carefully with the bigger comb. “I have already seen a madman today,” she said, partially to the dwarfling and partially to herself. She twisted Belladonna’s hair into a bun and pinned it firmly. Then she kneeled and combed the hair on the feet with the smaller comb. They surely wouldn’t gain cousin Lobelia’s approval, but they were acceptable. She patted her mother on the calf. “He had cursed a dwarf, beaten him unconscious and then thrown him out of his home. Does your king behave in the same way when he gets mad?”

“That exactly what he does, miss.” Now the dwarfling looked at her as if she was a slow-learning child. “If you saw it, then you should know better than waste your time fancying up. Hurry up now, please.” The last part was directed to Belladonna, who stood up, smoothed her dress and coat, and checked the contents of her pockets. Then she leaned to completely dumbfounded Bluebell and kissed her in the forehead.

“I’ll be back as soon as I can,” she promised and touched her nose with her thumb. Bluebell shook her head, as if waked abruptly from a bad dream, and stared at her mother with her eyes widened.

“It was the king,” she whispered, her voice barely audible. “It was the King under the Mountain!”

“Aye, miss.” The dwarfling didn’t hide his impatience, shifting from foot to foot. “Can we go now?”

Belladonna nodded, gave her daughter a last cheering-up smile and went away. Bluebell stared at the closed door for a long while, trying to collect her thoughts, but they seemed to run away from her head in all directions like rabbits on the meadow. She didn’t feel so dejected for a very long time. In this case, there were only two ways to alleviate her mood: curl up and cry aloud, or eat something delicious.

Bluebell sighed, suppressed a sob and looked around. Crying was not an option, so she needed a shopping basket.


	3. In which there is a heated discussion and an equally heated exchange of stares

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm so sorry it took me so long to post this chapter! You all are so kind to me and here I am, delaying the update. I promise it won't happen again.
> 
> I'd like to thank my betas, manarai and Indileen, who always help me with taming my wild grammar. And many thanks to you, dear readers, for your support! <3

As it turned out, Bluebell finally went for the “curling up and weeping” option, even though she didn’t actually want to. With a small basket which she had found after half an hour of digging in the pile of their belongings, Bluebell went out to find a grocery shop or a market. Wandering through the dark, endless halls of the eight terrace, she squinted to see anything resembling a shop, but the only one found was the apothecary mentioned by Nís. It oozed such an intense smell of herbs that Bluebell gave up the idea to ask the dwarf lady about groceries and passed it by very quickly, sneezing wildly. There wasn’t anyone in the hall whom she could ask for direction, but she saw glimpses of hairy dwarven faces in the little windows, that’s for sure. Bluebell didn’t enter their yards or call them aloud. She’d done enough damage today and the last thing she needed now was breaking the code of conduct of this respectable neighbourhood. It took her almost two hours to circle the terrace, but with no success, and she came back home with an empty basket and a rumbling stomach. Exhausted, crestfallen and very hungry, Bluebell climbed onto the too big, too hard bed, hid her face in her elbow and burst into tears.

She wasn’t a crybaby, really. In most cases she gets rather angry than sad, and besides, her face becomes positively ugly when she cried. Her nose seems to be even longer and more upturned than usual, her round brown eyes almost disappear under the pink swollen eyelids and her cheeks are covered in red hot flushes hours after she calms herself down. Just another reason to get angry about and resist tears. But this time Bluebell couldn’t bring herself to care. Who was there to see her anyway? For the dwarves she was a weirdo either way, so she just cried aloud until her eyes started to sting and her breathing became short, ragged panting. Lying still and trying to calm her breath, Bluebell couldn’t help but think about all the unfortunate events which happened today. It was hard to believe that they entered Erebor just a couple of hours ago and she already managed to get herself into serious trouble. The memory of the King under the Mountain, growling and looking at her with utter dismay, was terrifying, but infuriating as well.

“I’ll show him,” she muttered to herself, sniffing loudly and touching her flustered cheeks with her palms. The anger she felt made her blood pounding in her ears, which was unpleasant but welcome nevertheless, as it made her active. “I’ll show them all.”

Before she could show anything to anybody however, Bluebell had to eat something. Her empty stomach reminded about itself with a long, painful rumble which make her sway on her feet. Luckily, there were some old biscuits in her luggage, but not many of them. She devoured a handful of cookies in a heartbeat and ate up half of a jar of cherry jelly with her finger. This meal was far from satisfying, but she ate enough for her stomach to cease its protests. Having left the remaining biscuits and jelly for her mother, she could finally vent her bad mood. Rolling her sleeves up, she started to sort the enormous pile of their luggage. With great care she hauled out Belladonna’s tools and papers from the mess and placed them in a neat row in a small room intended to be her mother’s study. She showed much less reverence to her own belongings, just pushing them aside with her legs to look for kitchen utensils and bed linen. With much relief she found that Belladonna’s wedding service from the West Farthing and the beautiful crochet doilies which she got from great aunt Azalea were intact; a spare bar of soap in a frying pan and two new quills among the cutlery made her as happy. Having arranged the kitchen to her satisfaction, Bluebell focused on the textiles, trying to untangle the great knot made of skirts and ribbons, and towels, and sheets, and thousands of other things. To her surprise, among crumpled clothes and linen there was a book, carefully wrapped in one of her mother’s absurdly long scarves. She unfolded it and couldn’t help but let out a gasp of shock.

It was her own copy of _Quenta Silmarillion_ , written in old Elvish, given to her by her parents for her last birthday. There were just several copies of this book in the whole Middle Earth, tucked somewhere in the deeps of Elvish libraries, as it was written in an old dialect almost impossible to understand. Bluebell’s parents had it copied especially for her by a scribe who rendered it perfectly, with all the illustrations and maps. It was probably the most valuable gift she has ever received and even though she desperately wanted to bury herself into her dictionaries and translate the epic, she decided against bringing the book with her to Erebor, considering it far too risky. And yet it was here, safe and sound.

“I’m just a hobbit,” she whispered with her eyes gleaming with excitement. She raised the book to her nose and sniffed; it smelled of leather and good ink and her mother’s soap. “How could I possibly resist?”

She couldn’t, so she quickly built herself a small nest out of towels and blankets, made herself snug and comfortable, and then was lost for world. As Oromë the Hunter weaved his way through the dark woods of Middle-Earth, Bluebell struggled through the ancient words, trying to make sense of them. The elegant, curved lines of tengwar seemed to roll before her eyes as the twilight descended, so she neared the book to her nose, reading aloud under her breath.

And suddenly, just when the Valar decided about Melkor’s imprisonment, the door swung open and Belladonna entered the house, giggling and rubbing her nose to cover embarrassment. Just behind her strode a mighty, tall and completely bald dwarf who cast quick look all over the corridor with grim expression on his face. His frown deepened when he saw Bluebell’s nest, but he didn’t say a word. She started to untangle herself from the sheets and clamber to her feet to greet the unexpected guest, when the tall dwarf moved from the door and another dwarf entered the hall. Bluebell couldn’t but gasp of shock and horror.

The newly arrived guest was the King under the Mountain.

“Bell, honey!” Belladonna exclaimed, dropping the measuring tape she was holding, and run towards her daughter. She leaned over Bluebell with worry all over her face. “You have been crying, haven’t you!”

Bluebell hissed and rolled her eyes. The flush on her mother’s cheeks became darker and Belladonna let out a nervous giggle.

“That is, er… I mean… You have been _creating_  a living space for us, of course you have!” The cheer in her voice was clearly fake, but no one seemed to care. Belladonna helped her daughter to her feet and turned to the dwarves waiting in the hall. “Now, majesty, my lord, please let me present my daughter, Bluebell Baggins,” she said, inclining her head firstly to the king and the to the other dwarf. Despite herself, Bluebell made a deep, elegant curtsey. She was a girl of manners, after all, even among madmen. “Bell, honey, this is his majesty Thorin Oakenshield, the King under the Mountain…” Belladonna trailed off and made a weak gesture with her hand. The king made a small nod, never letting those cold blue eyes of his off Bluebell’s face. “And this is lord Dwalin, the commander of the royal guard.” The tall dwarf grunted, bud didn’t bow his head, the grim expression never leaving his features. A heavy silence fell among them; Bluebell could hear her heart beating loudly in her throat. Then the king moved slightly and opened his mouth, but she didn’t allow him to utter a single word.

“Please, make yourself at home,” she said quickly, gesturing towards kitchen. “Mother, please make sure our guests are comfortably seated. I’ll fetch something to eat.” Stale biscuits and an almost empty jar of jelly which she ate out with her fingers. Wonderful. If a month ago somebody had told her that she would have problems with feeding unexpected guests, she would have laughed at them. Bagginses from the Shire were always very proud of their pantries.

“But we came here just to see the rest of the plans…!” Belladonna protested, but cut it off at the sight of her daughter’s tightly pressed mouth. “You’re right, Bell, honey, the kitchen table will be perfect for it. If you please, my sirs.”

When the dwarves disappeared in the kitchen, Bluebell dropped heavily on the pile of clothes, her knees wobbly and her heart pounding. After a few seconds of futile efforts to steady her breath and heartbeat Bluebell sighed, stood up and went to the study, where she put the biscuits and jam for Belladonna. The papers which she had carefully arranged were now scattered on the floor and some of the instruments were overturned or moved. Bluebell picked up the bag with cookies and the jar, tried to arrange her mouth in a neutral smile and went to the kitchen. The dwarves and Belladonna were leaned over the designs and drawings spread on the table.

“I saw it once, in a city of Men far in Eriador, all motion and energy, but an object of unique beauty at the same time.” The king was looking down at the sketches with eyes gleaming with the same strong passion that she saw in him in the morning. Even though this time he spoke words of admiration, not contempt, she couldn’t resist a shudder. “I’ve never dreamt of having such machinery in my mine.”

“You’ll have better, majesty.” It wasn’t a brag; Belladonna spoke with absolute conviction. The king raised his head and smiled at her. He was just about to say something more, when he saw Bluebell standing at the door and his smile faded straightaway.

“If you say so,” he agreed in a weak voice, dropping his gaze to the plans. “And where exactly would you install the wheels, Chief Engineer?”

“Well, I haven’t seen the whole mine yet, but the third shaft in the southern corridor seems perfect for it. We could…”

Letting her mother’s excited explanation pass by her ears, Bluebell entered the kitchen with a short nod, not directed at anyone in particular. On the smallest platter of the wedding service she arranged the biscuits – seven of them, to be precise – and put the sad remaining of the jelly into the sugar bowl instead onto a saucer. Highly inappropriate as it was, she doubted that the dwarves would know the difference or the meaning of it, so it was a safe way to manifest her displeasure. Serving a dish on a wrong plate was considered a great insult in the Shire and a clear sign that a guest was unwelcome. Bluebell set everything on a lacquered tray decorated in tiny greenish-purple flowers of nightshade. It was just then when she thought about tea. The thing was, there wasn’t any. More than that, there wasn’t even any hot water – the oven was totally forgot, cold and empty. It was even worse than the stale biscuits. A hobbit’s kitchen with no tea? Reprehensible. It was an offence even worse that the jelly in the sugar bowl. With a tinge of concern that the dwarves can actually notice the lack of tea, she poured cold water into the elegant cups with silver lining, set them on the tray and moved to the table. There was barely a place to put the cups, as the papers, measuring tapes and dwarven elbows seemed to be everywhere, but somehow she succeeded.

Neither Belladonna nor the dwarves paid much attention to her, immersed in the discussion about pulleys, gears, chains and similar boring things. Bluebell perched on the edge of a bench near her mother and pretended to listen carefully, but it wasn’t very convincing, as her head soon started to drop and she leaned against Belladonna’s shoulder. Her eyes closed against her will, but it was surprisingly pleasant, so she let it be, just for a moment. And then she felt her mother’s elbow in her belly.

“Bell, honey.” Belladonna gave her a weird look, partly confused and partly amused. “You’re snoring, my dear.”

Bluebell blinked rapidly and focused on her mother with terror in her wide eyes. She didn’t dare to look at the king nor the other dwarf, ashamed to bits. Falling asleep with her guests present – it surely was an insult among the dwarves as well.

“I’m afraid we are boring miss Baggins with our ramblings about lifts,” said the king in a low voice and she couldn’t help but look at him. He was observing her cautiously, his brows furrowed and his mouth pressed tightly. There was something wild and unpleasant in his features what she couldn’t pinpoint, but surely she didn’t want to affront him any further.

“No, no, it’s certainly fascinating,” she protested weakly, blinking to cast the sleep away. “I am sorry, I’m… I’m just tired.”

“It must have been an exhausting day.”

And what was that, an attempt at polite small talk? Bluebell was unsure what to make out of that. Did he forget about their encounter in the morning? Did it mean that he didn’t care?

“Oh, it certainly was. Full of… unexpected event. And… and stairs,” she added quickly, not willing to refer to the morning incident. “I mean… we’re not used to so many steps in the Shire. There are no mountains there, just rolling green hills.”

“It sounds very… calm.” Bluebell was quite sure that he intended to say something else, but changed his mind in the last moment. Somehow the simple adjective seemed very judging. “Quite different from what we have here, in Erebor. Wouldn’t you agree, Chief Engineer?”

“Absolutely!” Belladonna exclaimed with a wide grin. “The energy of Erebor is admirable, and the determination of its inhabitants to explore the depths of the mountain and its treasures. I must say that in comparison the Shire falls rather unexciting.”

It felt like a smack on the cheek. How could her mother criticize their home in such a blunt, cruel way? Was she really so unhappy in the Shire that the mountain stole her heart in a trice? Was she blind and insensitive to what happens here? Again Bluebell could feel the anger filling her chest with heat and pounding.

“It may be less energetic and modern, but it has its virtues,” she protested, jutting her chin and shooting the king a provocative glare. “The people of the Shire are less determined, but definitely kinder to each other and to strangers.”

“You deem us unkind, then, miss Baggins?” His gaze was so intense that it almost drilled holes in her forehead. “Quite opinionated you are for a person who arrived here just today.”

“Just today I saw more unkindness than during my whole life. And I don’t suppose you’re surprised at all. Majesty,” Bluebell added, but there wasn’t a tinge of respect in her voice. The firm grip of Belladonna’s hand on her shoulder stopped her before she could say anything else.

“Now you’re being unkind, Bell, honey.” Bluebell didn’t dare to turn her head, quite sure that her mother was sending The Look again. But this time she could not waver. There was a point to be proven. “And unjust, too. How can you judge…”

“But you saw it as well, mum!”

A sudden chill went through Bluebell’s bones when the other dwarf rose to his feet. He leaned towards her, nearing his scarred face to hers so that she thought that he’s going to bite her head off. She swallowed hardly and blinked several times, but he didn’t move back.

“You will not speak this way to your king,” he drawled in a low voice which sounded like rumbling stones. Bluebell blinked again and sat down, which was weird, since she didn’t remember she had got up at all. The king hissed _Dwalin!_ , but the dwarf didn’t back. He observed her with his eyes squinted, clearly expecting an apology.

“He is not my king,” Bluebell clarified after a while. Dwalin leaned even further with a barely suppressed growl of anger, but the king stopped him with a gesture. Taking his place, he grabbed several cookies from the platter and munched them with disgusted scowl.

“No, she is right. I have a temper,” the king admitted. His face was serious, but Bluebell couldn’t tell if he was being solemn or rather provoking her. “But I can assure you, miss Baggins, that all my actions were justified.”

“Justified? _Justified?!_ You’ve tormented this poor creature! He was begging for mercy and you’ve beaten him like a madman! Such cruelty is not a way of any man of honour, and certainly not a nobleman!”

“You will hold your tongue, young lady!” Dwalin growled, this time not bothering to stand up. But Bluebell didn’t care for that – she was focused on the king. Something wild blinked in his eyes and in a heartbeat all his calm was gone. He was the madman from morning again, just a little more composed. A small voice in the back of her head urged to hide beneath the table, but Bluebell bravely ignored it. Meeting his gaze however was far beyond her courage.

“Is it a way of a nobleman to dig up half-burnt corpses out of a rubble?! Two hundreds of them, men, women and younglings, blown into shreds or buried alive – all this because another _poor creature_ used open fire in a low corridor, despite an express ban. And I swear to you, miss Baggins,” he hissed, and she couldn’t but shiver at the rage in his voice. “Nobly or not, I would tear that damned… creature… in shreds with my own bare hands, if only I could.”

“It’s true, Bell, honey,” Belladonna added softly. The story about the accident must have moved her deeply. “Explosive gases are a real curse in the mines and fire must be used with great caution. Such tragedies…” She sighed gravely and shook her head. “They must be prevented by all means.”

With her eyes fastened to the table, Bluebell was desperately trying to find a good answer, but how could she say now that no one deserved such cruel treatment if it meant protecting others from dying under falling stones? How could she explain that she supported the aim with her whole heart, but she felt for the beaten miner as well?

“We have overstayed our welcome.” Misinterpreting her silence, the king stood up and bowed his head shortly to Belladonna. “I hope that the measurement works can start tomorrow morning, Chief Engineer.”

“But of course, your majesty! You must however promise me to visit us very soon. It’s an utter pleasure to discuss the designs with you and we have still many plans to make.”

Instead of an answer he just bowed his head again and went to the door. In the last moment he turned to Bluebell, who was still sitting numbly with her eyes fixed on the table.

“Let us not part as enemies, miss Baggins,” the king asked, taking a few steps towards her. She jumped to her feet nervously and focused on the silver embroidery on his cloak, unwilling to meet his gaze. “I understand your objections, but you must know that I have a duty to my people. They trust me and I must protect them with all my might.” He extended his hand towards her, but Bluebell flinched and took a small step back, only to collide with the table. Without any more words, the king and his guard left the house, deaf to Belladonna’s farewells.

A long, unpleasant silence dropped in the kitchen. Bluebell was observing her feet, tracing the tangles of hair with great concentration. _I will not raise my head or speak first_ , she decided, looking at her mother from the corner of her eye. Belladonna sat with her head dropped and plucked threads from her cuffs.

“I hoped that you’ll like him.” It sounded plaintively, like a disappointed child. A trembling sigh which followed made Bluebell’s belly clench. “The dwarves are really friendly if you let them, maybe a bit crude, but… And Bell, honey.” Belladonna looked at her daughter and Bluebell couldn’t pretend any longer that she didn’t see The Look. Her belly was heavy with guilt. “The handshake is an important social form here. With your refusal you offended the king far more that with your nap by the table or the jelly in the sugar bowl.”

“I’m sorry that I have upset your friends, mum,” she said, because it was what she always said when she earned The Look. And she was sorry, she really was. But this time, like never before, she felt bitter about it. “I am sorry if I haven’t grasped all the nuances of Eastern manners yet. But mum, how can they expect a complete stranger to touch them, so abruptly and without any warning? It’s not _proper_. And the king…” she trailed off, biting her tongue. _And the king will surely kick a miner or two to raise his spirits_ , she wanted to say, but went for another option. “The king will surely understand, mum, if you explain it to him. Now eat your biscuits, please,” she added, pushing the almost empty platter towards Belladonna. “But savour them, there’s nothing more.”

“But you will try to befriend them, won’t you?” Belladonna insisted, reaching for the cookies and the sugar bowl. “Promise me, Bell, honey!”

“I cannot promise you anything with an empty stomach,” she answered, hoping that mother will catch the allusion. What she wanted right now was to limit any encounters with the King under the Mountain to the necessary minimum. She headed towards her bedroom, picking up her precious book on the way.

“Then I’ll bring you something from the market on the third terrace. What would you like to eat, Bell, honey?”

Third terrace. _Third terrace!_ Does it mean that to fetch anything to eat she’d have to go five terraces below and then climb these cursed stairs again? What a terrible crime has she committed to deserve such monstrous fate? Her knees suddenly became very weak and wobbly.

“Anything,” she answered in a weak voice and dropped to the bed again. From the hard mattress there will be bruises on her back, that’s for sure. Closing her eyes, she imagined her bedroom in Bag End, soft pillows and blankets, and flowers on the windowsill. A wave of homesickness flooded over her and without much thinking she reached for her notepad which she kicked under the bed before. She opened it, produced a pencil from little pouch in the cover and wrote in strong, quick strokes.

_Dearest Father…_


	4. In which Thorin isn’t brooding about what Miss Baggins said because he never does

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This time we leave Bluebell and Belladonna to their hobbit business and - surprise surprise! - wander down to Thorin's den. I hope you'll like it and forgive me this late and short update. Real life strikes back, unfortunately.
> 
> As usual, I'd like to thank manarai and Indileen for beta-reading this fic. And of course all of you, dear readers, for your interest and support! <3

“Don’t you dare.”

Thorin stopped and looked over his shoulder at Dwalin, who caught up in two strides. “I mean it. Don’t you _dare_ ,” he repeated, giving Thorin a nudge in the side, and passed him quickly.

“Don’t I dare what?”

“You’re really hopeless at pretending, aren’t you.” Dwalin didn’t bother to look at him as they weaved among miners and traders and passers-by. “Don’t you dare to brood about that hobbit lass,” he added in a lower voice, entering the yard on Thorin’s house. The constant clatter coming from the mine made his words almost impossible to understand. “What were you thinking to invite these Westerners here? They’re both totally bonkers.”

“Engineer Baggins is a renowned expert. You were impressed by her designs as well as I were, you must admit that.” Instead of admitting anything Dwalin just shrugged, but didn’t protest. He pushed the door and opened them a little, waiting for the rest. “And I’m not going to brood about anything. I never do,” Thorin added, his voice very solemn.

His declaration was greeted with two bursts of laughter – Dwalin’s and Dís’, whose face appeared in the slit. Wiping her tears, she opened the door fully and urged them both to come to the living room. It has been redecorated recently and the new furnishings, made of the best oak wood from Mirkwood, were beautifully incrusted with silver family sigils. Thorin still couldn’t get used to them – their resemblance to his father’s throne was giving him unpleasant chills.

“Is it true?” Dís asked all of a sudden, serving them mugs of ale. Her expression changed at once, moving from amused to serious in a heartbeat. To buy himself some time, Thorin took a solid gulp, but he could feel his sister’s gaze fixed on him.

“Yes, it’s true. I had to expel a miner. Gunnir, son of Wundir – I’m sure you know him.” This lame answer earned him just a meaningful eye-roll from his sister and as meaningful snort from Dwalin. “I don’t know what else you heard tell, but I believe it’s true as well,” he added with a sigh. Dís shook her head with annoyance all over her face.

“The rumours about you being told off by this Western tramp managed to circle the Mine three times, and you just sit there and sigh? And maybe even take her words to heart?!” The last part has been emphasised by a mighty blow of her fist onto the table. Before Thorin managed to utter a single word in his defence, Dís went on. “You must not allow such things to happen to you! Go and demand an apology.” He just shook his head and shrugged, really wishing that this lecture just ended quickly. It seemed for a moment that his wish came true, but he clearly underestimated Dís’ determination. She rose to her feet and smoothed her dress. “ _I_ will put end to it then, Thorin. Who she thinks she is!”

“That’s precisely the point. She’s no one.” Thorin stood up as well and placed his broad hand on his sister’s shoulder, urging her to sit down again. “She’s just a youngling who has no idea about the Eastern ways. Why should you bother?”

“Then why do _you_ bother?”

His denial was drowned by Dwalin’s snort. “Because she didn’t want to shake his hand, my lady.”

Thorin let out a muffled sigh. When he and Dís had a fight, Dwalin always had to pour oil into the fire. It was like this since they were dwarflings, the two of them uniting against him, in the best of intentions of course, and all of this because of Dwalin’s meddling. He was pretty sure that it resulted from his friend’s utter admiration for infuriated Dís. _Like a lynx, quick and merciless_ , he slurred once with eyes gleaming with awe and mind clouded with alcohol. And yet, Thorin had a merciless lynx to deal with.

“That’s an interesting new development,” Dís announced, looking at Dwalin with an angry smile which matched his gloomy frown perfectly. “This little outcast refuses a handshake with the king! It’s good to know whom we have the honour to entertain. By Durin’s name, I must remember to sweep the floor in front of this noble lady with my beard, when I meet her…”

“Dís, _please_.”

She quieted, but her face left no doubts that her irritation hasn’t ceased yet. Thorin was fairly sure that if her angry gaze could ignite objects, the whole furniture would go ablaze. Her fierce defence of him always seemed intimidating and somehow unjust; it made him feel guilty instead of supported. This time it was alike, the uncomfortable heat touching his cheeks.

“How about we talk the serious business”, he forced himself to say, trying to sound as casual as possible. “How did the miners react to my entrance? Did it slow down the work?”

“I made sure it didn’t.” Dís must have seen his nervousness, because she too made an effort to act like nothing had happened. “There were murmurs, of course, especially in the face, but no one wanted to go next. I know, I asked”, she added with a wry grin and winked at Dwalin, who winked back.

“You cannot terrorize them.”

“You know I don’t. I just present reasonable alternatives.” Dís shrugged and poured them more ale. “We cannot bow and bent to their every whine, Thorin. It’s _we_ who cannot be terrorized, by Durin’s name!”

“Aye, my lady is right.” To no one’s surprise, Dwalin agreed with Dís. He gulped his beer in one go and put his mug on the table with a loud knock. “You’re being terribly soft lately. When I heard about that brat you’ve thrown out, I couldn’t believe.”

A sudden feeling of exhaustion fell upon Thorin. At the moment there was nothing that he wanted more than to hide in his study and bury in the ledgers. “It’s not about bowing and bending, it’s about books. Did any of you see them recently, by any chance? No?” He sighed heavily, hoping that for once Dís will listen a voice of economic reason. “This modernisation takes all our funds, all of them. If we lose the liquidity and cannot pay wages, there will be a strike. But if we don’t install lifts…”

“We could always wait a little more. We managed so long without them.” She dropped her head and propped it on her hands. Thorin’s point was clear to her now, but she still wasn’t ready to give up her arguments. “Let’s wait, just to the next spring, the ships from the Sea will come and we’ll be safe. They’ll endure, I promise.”

“They won’t.” Thorin shook his head. They had this conversations before, but never so open. He would have to show her that she doesn’t care about the books. She would have to show him that he had no idea about the live beneath earth. They managed to avoid it for so long. “Without lifts there will be a strike as well. You know that, so stop pretending. It’s you who goes down there every day.”

And so it was indeed – every morning Dís wandered down the countless stairs among ordinary miners to see to the works. Neither dark faces nor narrow shafts scared her off, and so she knew each bonanza of Erebor and each miner working there. Without her detailed reports he wouldn’t be able to keep the Mine running smoothly in all these years. And it was nothing else but these reports that forced him to take on the modernisation works. Very cautiously at first, but she started to tell him about miners’ declining morale, whispers in the deeps and first thefts. _Gold sickness_ , said Dís finally one day, avoiding his gaze like she’d never done before, and these two words started to recur in almost every their conversation since then. It was enough for Thorin, who never was a gambler type, to take all risks.

“I made a promise and we can’t fool them, Dís. We cannot afford another Bofur among the miners,” he said grimly and stood up, giving her arm an affectionate squeeze and nodding his head to Dwalin. Exhaustion and bitterness flooded all over him when he excused himself and hid in his study. Here, behind his desk, he felt no less weary and sullen, but much safer. _Like a wounded beast in its lair_ , he thought wryly and shook his head at the grandiosity of this idea.

His original plan was to go through all the cost estimates once again, to ensure himself that he’ll be able to make the ends meet, but his tired mind wandered instead towards the series of unpleasant events from today. First time in a few years Thorin set his foot in the depths of the Royal Mine, but upon the discovery of surprisingly low supply of candles and the testimony about the unreported mining in the new corridor extorted from the frightened keeper there was no other choice. He could have waited for Dís, of course, or send Dwalin or Balin, but he was too afraid and his fear made him angry. Praise Mahal, there were no explosive gases in this corridor and the example that he made of this damned creature should serve as a good abhorrent for other greedy fools, for some time at least. But he couldn’t calm down, not really, and not only because of the faint whiff of gold which he could smell all the time.

_And you are a monster!_

It’s not like he lied to Dís. The girl was no one particular, she didn’t know the dwarven ways at all and he didn’t need her esteem or friendship. But what unsettled Thorin so deeply and what he actually did take to his heart was the look of terror in her face, her certainty that he must be mad to act as cruel as he did. And Thorin, who still felt a bit dizzy when he thought about the warm shimmer of gold which he saw today, could not disagree with her. Though his anger was justified, he wouldn’t have lost his control if it weren’t for the glowing golden veins. He didn’t show Gunnir a tinge of mercy not only because the miner posed a threat to his family and people in his care, but also because he was a menace to all these precious treasures, that were his and his only. Such thoughts he hoped to have cast away from his head years ago, but they were there, stronger and more terrifying than ever.

Thorin shook his head and forced himself to reach for the book with cost estimates. The tiny, angular runes of his handwriting assumed a block of calculations, the results of which were reassuring. They should make it if everything goes according to plan. With new machinery like the one engineer Baggins proposed the expenses will pay off relatively quickly, in fifteen to twenty years, and the yield will rise for about thirty percent. The dragon tax will rise as well of course, but that’s hardly surprising. Thorin close the book and sighed, leading a self-assuring monologue in his head. _You are not a mad monster_ , he repeated, and the voice in his head sounded exactly like Dís’. _You make economically sound decisions, you care about your workers. Stop pitying yourself._

He contemplated staying in his study for the rest of the evening and preparing a counteroffer for the weavers guild of Dale, whose prices were so absurdly high these days that it smelled of speculation, but decided against it. Meeting with the foreman of Gunnir’s shift should be much more beneficial, and besides, Balin’s trade offers were always much more diplomatic than his.

“I’m going to see a foreman,” he announced in the general direction of the living room, hoping that Dwalin and Dís are too busy discussing Miss Baggins’ conduct to bother him. Much to his surprise, a long protesting moan answered him straightaway.

“Uncle, don’t go right now! Come and see how I shoot a pine from Fíli’s head!”

“No shooting under my roof!” he demanded as he went towards the living room, just to see Kíli’s dramatic pantomime on how he perfectly shoot the pine from his older brother’s head. According to his play, Fíli swayed, squeaked and almost fainted, but Fíli’s opinion on this matter was quite different.

“His hands were positively shaking, like this!” The uncoordinated convulsions of palms were truly intimidating. “I was sure I’m going to meet the Maker!”

“Kíli!” Dís seemed highly unimpressed by her younger son’s archery skills. Her face showed instead a hint of terror about her offspring’s carelessness. “How could you!”

“Liar,” Kíli hissed. “I was absolutely sure and calm as a stone.” He turned to check on Dwalin’s expression and received an appreciative grunt. Dís just rolled her eyes and took a deep breath to start a tirade, but Thorin saved her the effort.

“The question is _why_ you did something so stupid,” he said coldly, giving each of his nephews a reproachful look. “I suspect a challenge or a bet, both of which you have been forbidden. Am I right?”

“No!” exclaimed the brothers in unison. “It wasn’t a bet,” explained Kíli, his proud smile exchanged for an innocent pout in a second. “Nor a challenge,” added Fíli quickly with a matching expression on his face. “Gimli just asked me to show him some tricks and I agreed.” The casual shrug which followed suggested that it wasn’t important at all. “And he did very well,” Fíli supplied, nodding solemnly, “it was a tremendous shot. _Tremendous_!”

  “I won’t hear any more of that.” Thorin’s brows were knotted low on his forehead and the corners of his mouth were drawn together in a grimace which his nephews nicknamed as the Profoundly Disappointed Face. “It’s a waste of my time. Please take care of this, sister dear,” he inclined his head towards Dís, who gave him an irritated look in return. She didn’t like him scolding her sons. “And I’ll speak with Glóin to tame his son a bit. I bid you good day,” he snapped and left the room, ignoring his nephews’ protests.

“He’s such a _square_!” Fíli’s indignant remark and Dwalin’s agreeing laughter caught him before he closed the door behind him.

Breathing hardly through his nose, Thorin tried to calm down as he marched up the street towards the office buildings of the Mine. Dwarves parted before him and lumped in small groups, eyeing their king nervously. It definitely didn’t cheer him up; Thorin enjoyed well-deserved respect like any other dwarf, but those flickering looks showed no reverence whatsoever. He felt like no one dared to catch his eye because they feared a sudden outburst of uncontrolled laughter. His mouth formed a thin, nervous line against his will and he squared his shoulders automatically, angry with himself for showing such weakness.

The gracious Mahal finally decided to show him some mercy in this trying day. By the door to his office he spotted thickset silhouette of Bombur, foreman of today’s first shift, trotting nervously from one corner of the building to another. Thorin rushed to him, trying to concentrate on the important issues that he had to discuss: the miners’ moods after the morning incidents, the new outbreaks of gold sickness, the progress of works in the new corridor. But before he reached the foreman, Bombur threw his arms in the air and started to yank his fiery red hair.

“Disaster, o king! Disaster falls upon us!” he exclaimed with hands still in his hair. His paper-white face expressed deep fear.

“What do you mean?” Thorin demanded, ushering the panicked foreman to his office. He didn’t need any more whispers and weird stairs behind his back, thank you very much. He had enough gossip for the next decade. “What disaster? Any cases of gold sickness reported?”

“No, your majesty, it’s worse. They…” Bombur swallowed loudly and his huge braid jumped on his belly. He clearly avoided Thorin’s gaze. “They threat us with a strike, majesty. A general strike, not a warning one like before. They say that if you listened to a half-savage girl, you must listen to them too. I am sorry, Sire.”

Thorin felt a sudden pressing urge to find Miss Baggins and tear her head off in front of all his miners and then to kill them too, one by one, these cursed by Mahal mutineers. But then he remembered the horror and revulsion on the hobbit’s tiny face. _You are a monster!_ , she cried. And now he felt like one indeed.


	5. In which Bluebell learns about her second nature

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Um... hi there! I am so very, very sorry for this unexpected hiatus! I could give you a thousand of excuses here, starting from my finals and conferences, and journal papers and thesis chapter to write, and my cousin's wedding, and my friend's wedding, and a flat renovation (the last one is the worst...), and a bajillion of other (un)fortunate events which kept me from writing. I won't dwell on that - what I will say is I'M SORRY and THANK YOU to the ones who waited for an update. Here it is! I have no intention of abandoning this project, actually it's the other way round, new ideas are just popping in my head. I hope to update more regularly when all my finals are passed, my papers accepted and my new tub successfully moved from balcony to bathroom and installed there.
> 
> Having said that, I'd like to thank my betas, manarai and Indileen, for a faster-than-light beta. I can't tell how awesome you are, girls, thanks! Indileen is recently even more awesome than usual, because she drew Bluebell's portrait for me! <3 Please go to the end notes to admire it <3 <3
> 
> And there's one more thing. I tried to render the way of speaking of certain dwarves to differentiate the social strata somehow. But even if I read a lot of "Broadbeam-ish English", I fail at using it. So if you find certain dwarves speaking weirdly and you can help me fix it, I'll be very grateful to you.
> 
> Once again, dear readers - thank you for your patience and support. My life would be so sad without you all!

“Are you coming down with me or are you staying here again?”

Bluebell looked at her mother, who  madeherself ready for work, and then cast a glance around. After three days of her hard work their rooms were as comfortable as the small amount of cushions, pillows and blankets allowed. The kitchen cupboards and shelves were not empty anymore and even the Eastern hall was swept clean. There wasn’t much to do, and besides, Bluebell didn’t want to risk another visit of Nís, daughter of Nígir. The dwarf lady came yesterday _JUST FOR A SECOND, LASSIE, I DON’T HAVE THE WHOLE DAY_ , and gave a forty minutes lecture on the elaborate dwarvish methods of sweeping. There are limits of what one can stand.

“I’m going with you, Mum. I’ll better check on Dixon, I’m sure she’s lonely without us,” she said, putting some small pancakes, three sausages and an apple to a lunchbox and wrapping it up in a doily. Far as it was from a satisfying second breakfast and lunch, it was at least something to stop Belladonna from running the whole day with an empty stomach. If she doesn’t leave her food somewhere in the mine, that is. “Here, don’t forget your lunchbox, Mum. What are you up to today?”

“We’re going to measure the lowest corridors!” Belladonna’s voice trembled with excitation. “The fires are not allowed there, so I’ll have to think about something else, using bells or something like it. But I’m so glad that you’re going down now, Bell, honey. And Dixon will be glad too.”

Though she had her doubts, Bluebell had to admit that the trip down the stairs was surprisingly pleasant. She could tell her mother the whole story of Nís’ visit, quoting the more interesting parts of the lecture and mimicking the dwarf lady’s solemn face. Belladonna laughed heartily and shared some funny stories from the Mine. The dwarves apparently had no idea what to expect from her and her instruments, so they treated her with an utmost caution.

“I am sure that they cross their fingers and spit behind their shoulders when you aren’t looking,” decided Bluebell, patting her mum on the said shoulder. “Belladonna Baggins, the Weird Witch from the West. Intimidating, I dare say.”

“Oh, they are a bit superstitious, I must admit. You’d better not whistle or wear anything red while in the Mine. But don’t ask me why,” Belladonna shrugged, raising her voice. They neared the ground level and the noises from the main vestibule made the conversation harder. “I’m not sure the dwarves themselves know the reason.”

They parted with a short hug and Bluebell looked at her mother’s fair head until she mingled into the crowd. It seemed to her much denser than on the first day, but it might as well be just an impression after three days spent almost alone. Casting cautious glances sideways, Bluebell wandered towards the main gate, hoping that the stables where Dixon was placed are nearby. The number of dwarves was growing every second, and they formed almost a river heading towards the gate. Letting herself to be carried by the crowd, Bluebell wondered about the cause of this exodus. All the dwarves were carrying baskets or bags, or pushing carts stuffed to the edges, so she suspected a market day. But where were they heading if the marketplace was on the third terrace…?

“Good morning, miss, your name, guild and wares to be registered, please?”

Bluebell looked up and saw a guard in a blue cloak, very similar to the one Birgrid, daughter of Bombur was wearing. The guard even had similar beads in his beard, but was definitely less friendly and more tired.

“Um… My name’s Bluebell Baggins, I come from the Shire and I have no wares. Only a bit of sugar for my pony,” she added, showing a lump of sugar. It was dark and of poor quality, but Dixon should like it nonetheless.

“Sugar? For a _pony_? Show it to me, miss,” the guard demanded, eyeing Bluebell suspiciously. He raised the lump to his eyes, checked it for a while, sniffed and definitely wanted to lick too, but the other dwarves in the queue started to call out with impatience. The guard let her pass then, reluctantly giving back the sugar, and Bluebell was too puzzled to ask him for directions to the stable. Now she was standing in front of the main gate, pushed aside by the unbroken stream of dwarves wandering with their wares down the hill, and without any clue on how to proceed further. She did the only reasonable thing that came to her mind – wander the mountain around and find the stables by herself.

It turned out to be a splendid idea. After a few days spent in the constant semidarkness and still air of the Mountain, the cool wind and the smell of grass and herbs were like a balm to her mind. It wasn’t similar to the tranquil sunny weather of the Shire, but there was a certain beauty in the indigo blue of the skies and the river, and the sharp contrast of rusty-red moors. With an exclamation of surprise she found bushes of wild raspberries and kneeled to pick them up to the biggest pocket in her apron. Finally she could make a dessert worthy of its name! This idea made her feel so good that, without thinking, she started to sing under her nose as she worked through the bushes. She did it rarely, as even if her best days her singing sounded like meowing of a stray cat, but Bluebell was in too good mood to care. Who could hear her in a stranded place like there anyways?

“Oi, wee one, don’t ya cry! Are ya hurt?”

_Iluvatar hates me_ , she decided, rising to her feet and trying to smile politely. A dwarf was approaching her quickly with concern drawn all over his round face. He wore baggy trousers and the weirdest hat she could ever imagine, with flaps as long as the braids he sported. Before she could curtsey and introduce herself properly, he was leaning over her, cleaning her skirt from grass and checking for injuries.

“Pardon me, sir,” she huffed, taking a step back and smoothing her skirt. These Easterners were insufferable indeed! “But I believe that we haven’t been introduced properly.”

“Oh, by the Maker’s beard! Ya are the brave lass of the West!” The dwarf took a step back as well and bowed gallantly, though something in his broad smile showed her that it was for a spoof only. “It’s an honour for me, miss. Me name’s Bofur, son of Olfur, at your service.”

“Bluebell Baggins, at yours,” she answered with a curtsey, taken aback by his reaction. Her neighbours from the eight terrace didn’t seem to consider her actions from the first day here as brave. Disgracing, rather, judging from their sour faces. They never mentioned anything about “services” in introduction as well. “I am sorry for interrupting you, sir.”

The dwarf chuckled and reached out a hand. Taught by her unpleasant experiences, after a second of hesitation Bluebell grabbed it firmly and shook. “As I said, name’s Bofur, and you haven’t interrupted me anything. Are ya lost?”

“No,” she said, and then, after a heartbeat, “yes. I am on a walk, but eventually I’d like to find the stables in which my pony, Dixon, stays. Do you know where they are?”

The dwarf laughed again and made a wide gesture with his left hand. “Of course I know, my lass, who else could know better?” A new quality appeared in his voice – not irony, not quite bitterness, but surely something wistful. “Come with me then, miss Bluebell, I’ll show you the way to your pony.”

It was hard to match Bofur’s stride at first. Quite the walker as she was, Bluebell was unaccustomed to the rocky paths of the Mountain, but after a while she caught on the rhythm of his gait. Then he started to whistle, quietly at first, but after a few bars she recognised the song which she sung before.

“Where do you know it from? _The Spinner_ , I mean?” Bofur just inclined his head towards her, whistling all the time. “Oh dear, from me? You should find a better source quickly, or else…” She trailed off, as she heard a familiar whinny.

Dixon, who saw her mistress much sooner than Bluebell recognized her, was trotting towards them with great speed, despite her age. Snorting affectionately, Dixon laid her head on Bluebell’s shoulder; Bluebell in turn threw her arms around the pony’s neck, hugged her closely, and placed a soft peck on the pink nostrils. After a while Dixon pulled back and nudged the apron pockets, clearly expecting a treat, which she was quickly awarded.

“You must think me an ignorant savage,” Bluebell said after a while, her hands still patting the pony’s neck. “Or childish, at least.”

“But why?” Bofur, who had seated himself on a smaller boulder a while ago, beckoned at her to join him. “It warms me heart to watch’em friends together. Fancy a snack, lassie?” He offered her a loaf of dense dark bread, which she had already tasted before and decided revolting, but accepted nonetheless. She was only a hobbit, and there were no hobbits known to sniff at a second breakfast. It was only then that she spotted several other ponies and a small herd of goats grazing on the thin grass. Bofur kept one eye on them, but seemed much more occupied with chewing than with pasturing. For a while Bluebell felt almost like at home, eating second breakfast under warm midday sun. But then the foul taste of the bread reminded her of itself, Bofur’s stomach grumbled and with a pang of guilt she came back to the reality. She hadn’t managed to collect many wild strawberries before, but she shared what she had.

“So, you are a shepherd then?” Bluebell asked, thinking it a neutral question to ask. Bofur, however, sported that wistful smile again.

“Aye, there’s not much else for me to do. I keep an eye on’em beasts, collect some healing leaves and roots and the days pass somehow.”

“You’re very lucky then, master Bofur” Bluebell concluded, rising to her feet. Dixon, who grazed nearby, rose her head as well and let out a short snort. “You can enjoy the sun and grass instead of dwelling in the darkness and noise of the mine.”

For a heartbeat Bofur seemed to be taken aback by her statement, and then he threw his head back and started to laugh so hard that he almost fell off the boulder. “But me, I’m a dwarf,” he uttered after a while, still holding his belly. “Dark and noisy corridors are me home.”

Still not sure what was the cause of his mood changes, Bluebell wanted to explain her reasons, but she was interrupted by a very strange noise. For a moment it resembled a distant cry of a wild bird, but then she recognised a prolonged call, given out by a very small but quickly moving person.

“Uuuuuuncle! Uuuuuuncle, where are youuuu?”

“M’here, love!” Bofur rose to his feet too and waved towards the running dwarfling. Bluebell recognized Twyla, the little dwarf-girl whom she met during her first day in Erebor. Like before, the girl was wearing heavy boots and carrying a basket; this time, however, her fiery red hair stuck out in all directions. “What’ve ya done with the hair o’yours?”

“Torhild has already learned how to plait braids, but not how to fasten them,” Twyla explained, putting her basket on the ground and smoothing her hair. Then she curtsied at Bluebell, who smiled back. Bofur gestured at his niece, clearly willing to help her with her wild hair, and soon a fishbone braid started to appear around Twyla’s head. Bluebell observed the deftness of the dwarf’s fingers with utter admiration. “I am so glad I could come here,” the girl announced, moving her head slowly as the gentle pushes suggested. “Da’s still running to and fro and babbling about the strike, Ma is on her shift down and Birgrid is cross at us all with no reason.”

“The strike, ya say?” Bofur didn’t raise his eyes from the girl’s head, but Bluebell could see a spark of curiosity in his eyes. Unsure if her presence is still welcome, especially since the Mine’s business posed no interest to her, she clucked on Dixon and wanted to make her excuses, but Bofur saw it and shook his head. “It’s very him to fret like that, this father o’yours. But tell me what do ya have in this basket, m’dear lass?”

“Birgrid sends her meat pie,” Twyla said, opening basket with as little movement as possible. She took out the meat pie wrapped up in a clean cloth and a small clay jar. “And auntie Nanna sends the soup, you know which one.”

“Aye, the sour soup! Tell ya auntie that I love her very much!” Twyla definitely didn’t share her uncle’s excitement. She pulled a face of utter revulsion and stuck out her tongue to emphasise it. “Ya must try the sour soup one day, miss Bluebell, when it’s warm and fresh there’s nothing equal in taste neither in Middle-earth nor below it. Here you are, me bonny lass,” Bofur added, patting Twyla on her shoulder. Now she had a fiery red crown of hair around her head. “Ya can collect them leaves now, and walk miss Bluebell back to the Mountain.”

They walked together to Bofur’s small shanty, almost invisible in one of the fissures. Apparently he had a sound collection of medical herbs there; Bluebell recognized yellow flowers of tutsan and mullein, as well as heavy scented leaves of mint, but the others neatly arranged leaves and roots were unknown to her. She helped Twyla put the lot to the basket so that the herbs didn’t mix together and wanted to carry the basket as well, but the dwarfling didn’t even want to hear about that.

“It is my duty to carry the basket, miss Bluebell,” Twyla explained, straightening her shoulders. Pride was clearly visible on her face and she look almost exactly like a smaller copy of Birgrid. “I earn a piece of copper each time I bring herbs to the apothecary.”

“But I wouldn’t voice any claims to your money, miss Twyla, I just want to help, it looks fairly heavy!”

“Nah, ya are surely lurkin’ here just for the wee one’s coins,” Bofur said, patting Twyla’s head affectionately. His voice was serious, but there was laughter at the edges. “Ya are a greedy halfling after all, aren’t ya.”

Bluebell just smiled, wondering if Bofur was intentionally making allusions at the common beliefs about the dwarves. Their greed for precious metals and jewels knows no measure, everyone knows that, and Bluebell was not sure if it was only a superfluous opinion. Judging from their king’s determination to dig out as much gold as possible, she could see the point in the saying. But Bofur’s opinion was certainly different, so most probably he said this about hobbits just to prevent her from an unkind comment. As if she was to do it, in front of a child…!

Abandoning these thoughts, she hugged Dixon’s head for the last time and reached out a hand to Bofur. This time it was he who hesitated, but he shook her hand eventually.

“I hope to see you soon, master Bofur. If you have nothing against it, that is,” she added, seeing his slightly dumbfounded face.

“Nah, of course not,” he said finally. “Come and visit whenever ya want. If ya’ve nothing against it.”

Unsure what he meant with the last sentence, she decided not to dwell on it, especially since Twyla had already marched off. The stride of her small feet was much easier to match and Bluebell enjoyed the walk very much. Bluebell observed the dwarfling  out of the corner of her eye, still wondering how it’s possible that she had never heard about dwarven children before. They surely were much nicer than hobbit babies, far less noisy, it seemed.

“Are you going to lead the strike, miss Bluebell?” Twyla asked out of the blue. Bluebell blinked with surprise and felt her jaw drop. The question roused her from her wondering how does it feel to have such soft wisps of beard and if it doesn’t tickle one’s neck, so she wasn’t quite composed. Even if she was, however, she had no idea what was the dwarfling talking about. “The strike in the Mine,” Twyla clarified, eyeing Bluebell suspiciously. “Da says that you are the damned Western creature which will bring disaster to us all, because you inspire the miners to a rebellion. But you don’t seem a damned creature to me. Are you one?”

“No!” Bluebell protested assertively, even if in a somewhat weak voice. What did these dwarves think to themselves?! “I assure you, miss Twyla, I have not the slightest intention of disrupting works in the Mine. I’m not inspiring anyone toanything , I swear. And you can repeat it to your father,” she added, rising her chin slightly. If Twyla was sister of Birgrid, it meant that her father must be named Bombur. Must be a king’s fellow who, as it seemed to Bluebell, deserved a what-for for telling such idiocies to his children. _Now I must be object of the tittle-tattle of the whole Mountain_ , she thought, frowning. No wonder that her new neighbours weren’t too keen to greet her in a friendly manner.

“I thought so,” Twyla concluded airily, with a wide smile which make Bluebell’s face a bit less grim. “I will tell it my Da for sure!”

“I think I will talk to him myself. Is he in the Mine now?”

The dwarfling nodded eagerly and explained that her father is a foreman in the low corridors of the Southern wall, where new deposits were recently found. Bluebell thanked her and stood in the queue to the gate. It was fairly short; it appeared that not all dwarves returned from their business trips yet. Twyla bid her a short goodbye and run upstairs with her basket, and Bluebell started to elbow her way to the Mine’s main gate. After a long while she reached the entrance and put her foot on the first step, but then someone’s hand landed heavily on her shoulder.

“No entrance to the Mine,” announced a dwarf in a blue cloak of a guardsman. His gaze was serious and unpleasant. She shook his hand off and smoothed her sleeves.

“But I need to pass a message, sir,” she explained. It was not too far from the truth. Still shaken from what she heard from Twyla, she needed to sort the things out straightaway. “I’ll be back right away.”

“No unauthorised entrance to the Mine,” the dwarf repeated like he didn’t hear her at all. Bluebell felt a sudden urge to shake him, but his size stopped her. “Go away.”

“But I need to see my mother!”, she insisted, not feeling bad at all for the lie. This repulsive creature asked for it, that’s for sure. And she _needed_ to see her mother too. A bit later. She will surely need some comfort which only Belladonna’s cheery nature could offer. “It’s _vitally_ important!”

“Yeah, sure.” The dwarf just snorted and rolled his eyes. “Look, halfling – you will not enter the Mine while I’m on duty, under any circumstances. We don’t need any troublemakers here.”

“No, you look, you, you _dwarf!_ ” Bluebell blurted out, saying the last word like an insult. “I am no troublemaker, I am a lady hobbit from the Shire! And you _will_ let me in the Mine!”

“Not unless the king himself orders me to!”

“Thank you, Fólki,” added a new voice, which made Bluebell’s blood freeze. “I will walk miss Baggins down myself.”

Still too aghast to protest, Bluebell just nodded and entered the Royal Mine by the side of Thorin Oakenshield.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> And here it is! Ladies and gentlemen, I give you miss Bluebell Baggins, drawn by [Indileen!](http://archiveofourown.org/users/indileen) Thank you, dear! <3
> 
>  


	6. In which Bluebell enters the deeps of the Royal Mine

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Oh. Well. I'll just say that I hope that this damned hiatus has finally come to an end. And don't shoot me please.
> 
> Merry Christmas to you all, dear readers - especially the ones who prompted me to update it. And big thanks to Indileen for an express beta.
> 
> BTW - does anyone know, how could I make my text justified? I gathered that it has to do with AO3 stylesheets, but I can't make it work ;___; Any tips?

With a tinge of shame Bluebell had to admit to herself that her life wasn’t free of silly, careless experiences. Even if she wasn’t as adventurous as Belladonna in her wild youth, this unpleasant twist in her belly, when she knew she was doing something stupid, was certainly familiar to her. Never has it been as strong as now, though.

“Are you feeling unwell, miss Baggins?”

Forcing herself to raise her eyes from the stone steps, Bluebell looked at the king. His stare was fixed in the darkness in front of him. She swayed a bit on the edge of a step and raised her chin, if only to hide her unsureness.

“I am in perfect shape, thank you, your majesty,” she managed on one breath, losing her balance again. In the glimmering torchlight made the stairs seemed to rock like a boat and she had to squint to see between the steps.

It didn’t help much, though, and soon Bluebell tripped over an edge, run forward, but by mere miracle managed to stop in more or less vertical position. In the corner of her eye she saw a big, dark palm hovering over her shoulder. She shuddered, equally distressed by the fall and the idea of another Easterner - and especially this one - touching her unbidden.

“I am not going to see my mother,” she declared and exhaled loudly. The king raised his brows in a silent question and folded his arms on his chest. Yet there was no surprise on his face - at least from what she could see in the flickering lights and shadows. His brows were knotted in an annoyed grimace like it was before.

“And why are you telling me this?”

The question was a surprise to her, though. She expected accusations or queries about her plans, or maybe some attempts to stop her. In the growing noise of thousands of mattocks hitting the stone walls Bluebell couldn’t collect her thoughts. She halted and squinted even more, trying to measure the king’s reaction.

“I am afraid that neither you, majesty, nor your people noticed that I am a lady hobbit from the Shire,” she stated. Before he could reply, she clarified: “Which means I am not a troublemaker, not a strike leader, and definitely not a liar.” It felt so good to say this aloud, that she felt a sudden rush of energy to overcome the stairs and the noise. Straightening up, she took the first step down.

“And yet,” the king said in his deep voice and she could practically _hear_ his gloating glee, “you have made me a lot of trouble, the strikers are seeing you as their symbol and, miss Baggins, you have lied to me.”

To that Bluebell had no response. Her cheeks burned from heat and for a brief moment she was grateful for the poor light in the Mine. She hated it about Erebor - and about its king too: they made her unnervingly uncertain. In the Shire she had no doubts of this kind, and her well-practiced social skills allowed her to handle even the most irritating acquaintances. Here, she felt lost.

“It has never been my intention…,” she started, but her voice disappeared in the constant hammering. The king leaned towards her and she couldn’t suppress a shudder. “It has never been my intention to interfere in the affairs of the Mine,” she shouted, trying to keep the neutral grimace. “That is what I need to explain to your foreman Bombur, son of Olfur, majesty.”

“Intentionally or not, you have prompted the miners to protest. Now, the Southern corridor is to the left.”

They went through another gate – smaller and less ornate this time – and entered a small, semi-oval terrace. When she looked around, Bluebell couldn’t help but gasp in awe. It seemed like they were in the very centre of the Mountain, carved from the inside. The shaft seemed to reach the peak of the Mountain and while she didn’t dare to go to the edge of the terrace and look down, she had no doubts that it reached deep below the earth’s surface as well. The surrounding walls were dark and rough, with slightly fairer veins like ivy branches visible in the dim light. Here and there, Bluebell saw a glimpse of something glimmering in the torchlight. It had to be the famous gold of Erebor.

“It’s beautiful,” she said, though she didn’t mean to. The king gave her a puzzled look, like he couldn’t grasp any sense in her words. “It looks like the night sky during the summer festival, when the stars seem to be so close that you can almost harvest them like apples.”

“Indeed,” he answered and inhaled deeply through his teeth. Before he turned his head away, she could see a grimace distorting his features, like he was in pain or anger. “We shall go now, miss Baggins. In fact, we must hurry up.” And before she could utter a word, his huge, heavy hand landed on her shoulder and forced her to turn towards the next staircase.

“Would you stop pushing me, you… your majesty!” she demanded and tried to shook his hand off, but to no avail. Squeezing her shoulder with slightly trembling fingers, he pushed her gently but steadily, acknowledging neither her protest nor her attempts to resist the movement. “Keep your paws off!”

“Then move on, lass,” he retorted in a low voice, but let her go. Then, not sparing her any single glance, the king rushed down the stairs.

Bluebell stared at him for a moment, unbelieving, but he didn’t turn around and in mere second he almost disappeared from her view. Without much thought, she collected the folds of her skirts in one hand, rose her chin in a way she learned from cousin Lobelia, and followed him as quickly as the tricky steps allowed her.

“Wait, will you!?” she shouted, trying to overcome the constant noise. “You, you vicious king of savages, do you think you can just push me around and…!”

“Quiet!” he barked without turning around or even slowing down. The echo of his shout resonated throughout the shaft, and it seemed that for a heartbeat the constant drumming slightly decreased. For a moment Bluebell went completely still as well, but the second of fear made her even madder. She stopped paying attention to the noise or stairs, or her problems with keeping balance; now she could only focus on chasing the dark silhouette before her. The urge to kick the king was rising quickly inside her; she hadn’t kicked anyone sine she was a child, but now the situation called for it.

All the time she had the unpleasant feeling of being observed, but it took her a good while to notice that they weren’t in an empty corridor anymore. In the corner of her eye she saw the miners, tied to the stone walls with thick ropes or standing on short, wobbly swings. Just looking at them made her feel slightly sick. She didn’t stop, though; not only because she didn’t want to be left alone in the darkness, but because she decided that a kick was too small punishment; she should bite the nasty creature too.

Suddenly, the king stopped and turned to her. She wanted to shout at him, to demand explanations, and if he had been angry, she would definitely do so. But he wasn’t angry, he was _mad_. The king’s face was peaceful, but his eyes gleamed wildly, as if he had been torn by uncontrollable passion. He reached towards her and she instinctively took a step back; yet this time he didn’t touch her and only made an impatient gesture.

“This way, miss Baggins.”

“And why on earth should I follow you, your majesty?” Bluebell hissed out her question, as sarcastically as she could muster. Keeping cousin Lobelia’s posture certainly helped her to feel the part. “After you dragged me in here against my will?”

“You wanted to speak with my foreman.” His answer came out as a low growl. She took another step back, and hit the stone step with her heel, but he didn’t follow her. The king waved at her again, urging her to go. “This way, miss Baggins. _If you please_.” He turned around and moved as if he was to march off again; that she could not allow. She run towards him and, fighting her good habits, she poked him violently on his arm.

“I certainly _don’t_ please…”

Suddenly something around them change; for a moment she could not pinpoint the source of it, but then she noticed – the drumming noise of the mattocks decreased. The miners, tied to the walls like giant spiders, stopped their work one by one, and stared at their king, completely stunned. Never in her life had Bluebell felt as unnerved as she did now.

“Miss Baggins,” said the king quietly, his voice vibrating throughout the hall, “will you accompany me to the foreman? Or are you preparing the motivational speech to the strikers?”

“Your majesty, I told you several times and I will tell you again – I have nothing to do with the strike!” Her shout echoed several times, going higher and higher. It seemed to her that someone called something back, but she didn’t pay attention to it, focused only on the dwarf before her. “Will you stop spreading these gossip about me!”

“Then go to the foreman and tell it to him, you damned woman!”

“Let her speak her mind!” The new voice which joined their shouted exchange was loud and high, and came from the above. And then, within mere seconds, other voices, one by one, joined the demand. “Let her speak!” Then, the ropes went loose and tens of feet thumped on the stone floor; the miners went closer and surrounded her in a semi-circle, facing the king. Suddenly a hand, warm and heavy, landed on Bluebell’s shoulder and she couldn’t suppress a shudder. This time she wasn’t pushed, though; the presence of the unknown dwarf, invasive as it was, felt oddly supportive against the madness of the king. “Don’t be afraid, lassie, we are with you. Speak.”

“But… but I don’t…” Bluebell stammered, looking around nervously. There were around fifty dwarves around her, clearly expecting a speech, and a mad king who wanted to kill her with his glare. “I don’t know what to say…”

“Tell the truth,” the king demanded, not sparing a single glare to the miners around her. “That you’ve nothing to do with the strike, which is no less but a mutiny which should be condemned.”

The miner’s hand on her back dropped, and Bluebell felt suddenly very alone. These dwarves offered her their support, and she could do anything to help them. Except of showing her defiance in cousin Lobelia’s best style.

“I have nothing to do with the strike. But I want to.”

It took a heartbeat for the crowd to process her words and then the hall exploded with cheers and encouraging calls. Several hands patted her on the back, she lost her balance and run forwards, but someone caught her before she fell.

“Silence!” The king roared, but the miners didn’t care for that. Bluebell, on the other hand, did care; the anger in his voice made her even more afraid than before. She had nowhere to flee, though; she had to fight him. “I said, _silence!_ And back to work!” Now, his shouting worked and the miners went still for a moment. “Those who will not get back on the walls will be expelled from the Mine straightaway!”

“You can’t force us, your majesty!” One of the miners shouted back, her arms folded and chin tilted up. It was the one who shouted first, Bluebell recognised. “You must listen to us at least.”

“That you should,” added Bluebell, trying to sound reasonable. “You can’t think only about your gold.”

At these words something in the king’s face changed dramatically. With a tinge of panic Bluebell recognised the same wild grimace she saw on him on the first day. Instinctively she spread her arms, trying to protect the dwarves around her as she did with the expelled Wundir, son of Gunnir. The miners, it seemed, recognised the change as well, because the supporting hands pulled her close.

“To the walls,” the king demanded in a low, furious growl, “or out with all of you! And you,” he pointed to Bluebell, “you will not stand between my gold and me! Out of my eyes!” he barked, and Bluebell shut her eyes and curled her head into her shoulders, expecting a hit. “ _Out_!”

“ _Nadad, ikhuzh._ ”

The silence which fell after these words was almost deafening. The miners shifted in their positions and finally parted, making way for a dwarf woman marching towards them. She moved steadily, her steps echoing throughout the hall, but there was an innate grace within her which gave her a regal aura. Her hair was braided fancily, and she wore a thin silver chain around her neck, with a heavy dark key hanging on it. Bluebell noticed that some of the miners bowed their heads to the lady; she noticed as well that the female miner who supported her first did not. The lady passed by Bluebell as if she wasn’t there, and went to the king. She placed both hands on his shoulders, and whispered something to him. He shook his head with a pained expression on his face, but didn’t utter any protests or shout again.

“You will get back to your work as your king commanded,” the lady said, turning back to the miners. There was no emotion in her voice, and yet Bluebell had no doubt that everyone will obey her. “Or you will leave the Mine to never come back.”

And, to Bluebell’s horror, the miners went back to the walls with no resistance. Someone squeezed her shoulder for the last time, but she was left alone against the mad king and the terrifying lady.

“You could have listened to them at least,” she said weakly, and this time it sounded much more as a plea than as an act of defiance. The dwarf lady finally graced her with a glance, and Bluebell took a step back, as if she had been hit with a stone.

“Get out of the Mine, Halfling, or I’ll have your right hand cut off for the high treason.”

Having said that, the dwarf lady took the king’s arm with the utmost care and led him out of the hall towards the stairs. Bluebell couldn’t do much but follow them in terrified silence. When she passed the miners though, one of them – the woman who supported her first – stopped securing her line and turned to her for a heartbeat.

“We are with you, lass,” she whispered with a smile which was unbearably sad. “Don’t be afraid.”


	7. In which Bluebell receives two unexpected visits

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Ta-dah, I managed it! It took me a lot of time, but still less than the last time, so I count it as a win. I wish I could keep this "one month = one chapter" pace - please be assured that I'm doing my best. Thank you for kicking me from time to time, it really makes my day! :)
> 
> As always, my thanks go to Indileen, who did the beta, and manarai, who not only did the initial beta-reading, but also discussed the exchange rates in Erebor with me long in the night. Thank you, gals, I wouldn't manage without you both.
> 
> And two confessions to sum up:  
> 1) I am trying to figure out tumblr and I live here: http://little-miss-carrot.tumblr.com/ There's still not much there, because I am the opposite of a tech savvy, but in the foreseeable future I'd like to post there some random things related to this fic. Should someone want to laugh at me, please feel invited.  
> 2) Recently I had a very serious talk with my brain and we finished with the conclusion that I am writing this fic for the sole purpose of creating more and more female dwarven OCs. Sorry!

When she finally made it to the blue quarters, Bluebell was red on her face, panting desperately and shaking on her whole body. She made a new record for stairs climbing though, at least for hobbits. Her wrath made her run all the way and only now she felt the exhaustion fall upon her. She sat down on the floor just behind the door as on her first day here, and breathed deeply to calm down a bit. It didn’t help much, though, as she couldn’t forget the scenes she had witnessed: the fury striking the king all of a sudden, the mercilessness he showed his workers, and the lady who didn’t seem to even perceive them as living, sentient beings. Bluebell didn’t have much experience when it came to managing the workforce, but surely the miners were more than a pair of hands to set the mattocks in motion, weren’t they. How the king and the lady treated them was just wrong.

Thinking of it made her too angry to just sit idly on the floor; she needed to occupy her mind with something better, to free it of these dark thoughts for a moment at least. Bluebell clambered to her feet and headed to the kitchen. The only thing positive enough to cheer her up now was baking bread. By mere miracle the leaven she took with her from the Shire survived the long journey and the bread was almost as good as the one at home. Save for the poorer quality of the flour and worse oven, that is.

What Bluebell needed right now was some proper kneading -it always helped her to vent off. Quickly she prepared a portion of dough, added some buckwheat and sunflower seeds, and left it to rise by the oven.  She was far too nervous to let the leaven work in peace; from the remaining flour she quickly kneaded another portion of dough, this time without any special flavours, and placed it by the first one. It didn’t help much, though, so she punched the dough down as soon as it rose a tiny bit. It felt very good indeed, especially when she imagined hitting these vain, despicable faces of the king and his second-in-command instead of the baking mixture.

She was just in the middle of filling the first tin with the dough when a series of knocks thundered on her door. Wondering briefly if they came here to get her in front of the king’s justice, Bluebell decided to ignore it. Should they be guards, they would come in anyway; otherwise, there was no reason to waste the good dough. The visitors were persistent, though, and soon another series of thuds came from the hall.

“BLUEBELL BAGGINS, THIS IS NÍS, DAUGHTER OF NÍGIR. OPEN THE DOOR, LASS!”

In the last second Bluebell stopped herself from punching the dough which was already in the tin. She placed it carefully in the oven, wiped off her hands in her apron and went to the door just as the knocking began again.

“Good day to you, lady Nís,” Bluebell greeted the elderly dame through gritted teeth. To her surprise, though, Nís didn’t come alone. Beside her stood another dwarf woman, fair of hair and with a small smile peeking out from behind her beard. “And to your companion as well.”

“THIS IS MY SISTER-IN-LAW, ÁSTA, DAUGHTER OF HRÓR,” Nís introduced, and Bluebell made a curtsey and Ásta replied with a short bow. Seeing that the older lady is drawing her breath to begin a lecture, Bluebell quickly invited them inside. She might not have the widest experience when it came to dwarves, but she already knew that they didn’t care for the eavesdropping neighbours if they had something important to share. And Nís clearly had more than one thing to announce to Bluebell, no doubt of that.

She barely managed to set the kettle on the stove when the lecture started.

“BLUEBELL BAGGINS, I TOOK UP THE UNPLEASANT DUTY TO TALK TO YOU ABOUT YOUR INTOLERABLE BEHAVIOUR IN THE MINE TODAY,” Nís announced gravely, straightening herself in her seat. Bluebell folded her hands in her lap and straightened her shoulders too, but knew better than to interrupt. “WE HAVE HEARD THAT YOU OPENLY DEFIED HIS MAJESTY THE KING IN FRONT OF THE MINERS AND SUPPORTED THEIR UPROARS.” The elderly lady leaned towards Bluebell and looked her in the eye like she wanted to pierce the insubordinate hobbit with her eyesight. “IS IT TRUE?” she demanded, though it was not a real question.

“It is indeed,” Bluebell answered, holding her chin up. Nís nodded like it was no surprise to her at all.

“AND YOU ARE ADMITTING IT WITH NO SHAME?!” She queried with dismay all over her wrinkled face. “I WOULDN’T EXPECT MANNERS OR REASON FROM A WILDLING FROM THE EAST, BUT A TINIEST SCRAP OF COMMON SENSE…”

“Sister dear,” the other dwarf, Ásta, interrupted, placing a hand on Nís’ shoulder in a calming gesture. On her wrist Bluebell spotted a bracelet braided from a vibrant red fabric, which contrasted sharply with the dark dress trimmed with fur and fine gold jewellery. “Please don’t get so distressed. I am sure miss Bluebell wasn’t aware of the results her actions may bring, the affairs of the Mine being still a novelty to her. Isn’t that so, miss Bluebell?”

“OF COURSE SHE WAS AWARE!” Nís didn’t skip a beat, but now at least she turned her merciless gaze to her sister-in-law. “OTHERWISE WHY WOULD SHE GO THERE, AMONG THE MINERS? AND PEOPLE SAY SHE WENT OUTSIDE THE MOUNTAIN, TOO!”

“Now, that isn’t a crime yet,” Ásta said, but shot Bluebell a cautious glance as well. “Miss Bluebell isn’t a dwarf, so the terrains outside can be of interest to her…”

“As far as I know, I can wander wherever I please,” Bluebell interjected, huffing with irritation. Luckily, the smell of bread started to spread and it worked miracles to soothe her nerves. “I had no intention to interfere in the affairs of the Mine, but I saw that no one listens to the miners’ pleas, and I saw how they are treated, and I just couldn’t agree to it!”

“AND YOU DECIDED TO SUPPORT A PROTEST THAT WILL DISRUPT THE WORK OF THE MINE!” Nís’ voice was so resonant that Bluebell was afraid that her head will explode. Ásta winced visibly as well, resisting the urge to cover her ears. “AND TO WHAT, TO HELP THESE STRIKERS?!”

“They don’t need my help, they need their king to listen to them!”

“AND YOU KNOW WHAT THEY NEED AFTER LIVING HERE FOR NO MORE THAN TWO WEEKS.”

Bluebell wanted to protest that it didn’t matter at all, that she had seen the king’s ways with his miners in the first day already, but Nís clearly had enough. She rose from her seat with dignity, tugging her companion to stand up too.

“I CAME HERE TO GIVE YOU FRIENDLY ADVICE, BLUEBELL BAGGINS, BUT NOW I SEE THAT IT ISN’T WANTED. I’LL GIVE YOU A WARNING THEN.” In two strides Nís closed the space between them, and then leaned in so close that Bluebell could see all the intricate patterns on the dwarf’s beard beads. She couldn’t suppress a shudder and crouched instinctively on her bench. “DO NOT MEDDLE, OR ELSE YOU’LL BE LEFT ALL ALONE.” The air of finality in her voice and its mere strength made Bluebell tremble again, even if the warning wasn’t all that scary. Nís turned on her heel towards the entrance and on her way tugged her sister-in-law once again. “COME, ÁSTA, THERE IS NOTHING LEFT TO BE DONE.”

“I don’t think so,” Ásta said, shaking her head, and looked at Bluebell cautiously, clearly checking if she wouldn’t be made to leave.

“DO AS YOU PLEASE, THEN, JUST DON’T WASTE TOO MUCH TIME.”

Bluebell, still unnerved, tried to smile welcomingly and at the same time walk Nís to the door. The elderly dwarf didn’t care for the courtesies – or maybe these were only hobbit courtesies – because she simply went out with a loud slam of the door before Bluebell made it to the hall. It felt like a slap in a cheek; she was Bluebell Baggins of Bag End and no one should slam doors just right in her face! She marched back to the kitchen with a belligerent pout on her face and was surprised to see Ásta’s bum stuck in her direction. A small gasp escaped her mouth and the dwarf turned quickly to face her.

“I tried to peek inside,” she confessed with a sheepish smile, “because it smells delicious! Well,” she coughed nervously. “Could we start from the beginning? I am Ásta, daughter of Hrór, and I am very pleased to meet you, Bluebell Baggins.” She reached out a hand and Bluebell blinked and grabbed it. She only wondered what she is doing when Ásta squeezed her palm quite firmly and shook it vigorously. It wasn’t all that bad though, she decided.

“I am pleased too,” Bluebell admitted and, to her surprise, it wasn’t a white lie. She took a breath to ask about weather, as it should be done during the first call, but stopped herself in time. There were sets of conversation topics considered appropriate when you meet a young hobbit lady for the first time, but they all started from weather, and besides Ásta wasn’t a hobbit and probably didn’t have a flower garden. Bluebell drew a long breath. “Would you like some tea?”

“Only if you have some peppermint leaves. But don’t trouble yourself,” she added, when Bluebell rushed to the cupboards and started to search them nervously. “Tell me something about you instead. About your life in the East,” Ásta clarified, seeing the hobbit’s surprised face. “Is it very dangerous?”

“Dangerous?” Bluebell repeated, staring at her guest with eyes widely opened. Absent-mindedly she put small jar of the peppermint leaves on the table. She thought about the clear blue skies of the Shire, the smell of freshly cut grass and faraway hum of Brandywine. “No, not at all! Why would you think so?”

“Because of the beasts, of course! How many of them did you fight? You must have been very good at that,” the dwarf added, scrutinizing Bluebell’s face and hands. “No visible scars…”

“I wouldn’t like to disappoint you,” Bluebell said very slowly, putting the leaves into the cup and pouring the water, “but the only beasts we have in the East are goats and sheep. And some ponies.”

This time it was Ásta who was absolutely shocked. She accepted the cup thoughtlessly and looked into it with pensive expression on her face. “So… you don’t have a collection of snow leopard pelts that you tore off of their backs to celebrate your birthdays?” She asked after a long while, with mocked disappointment in her tone, but also some sort of a challenge. Bluebell shook her head.

“I’m afraid I haven’t got the slightest idea what a snow leopard is.”

“Neither do I,” Ásta admitted with a laugh, “but I heard  tales that they live somewhere in the East and have beautifully patterned fur. Since my craft is furriery, I hope you’ll understand my curiosity. Where did you learn to fight then?”

“I can’t fight, and if you are referring to my escapade to the Mine… well, sometimes I’m just stubborn.” Bluebell rose from her seat and opened the oven. The smell of the hot bread hit her nose, making her head spin and her eyes tear. “I never wanted to – to meddle,” she said, checking the bread with an old hairpin which she brought from the Shire. Deciding it’s ready, she took a towel and grabbed the pan firmly. “It’s just ‑ it seems so _unfair_!”

There was a shuffle and suddenly a firm hand landed on Bluebell’s shoulder. She shuddered, but didn’t let go the pan. Ásta squeezed her shoulder gently, almost like the miners did before, and then took the towel from Bluebell’s hands.

“It is unfair,” she agreed, and took the second pan from the oven. Then she placed it on the counter – without rising her hands over her head, Bluebell noticed with a tinge of envy – and put both her hands on Bluebell’s shoulders. The hobbit couldn’t but shiver and wince at the close, unexpected contact. “But think before you act, Bluebell. You are brave, and you may have a point, but you don’t know the life here.” Ásta’s face was serious; her eyes, squinted with concern, were framed with tiny, shallow wrinkles. Suddenly Bluebell realized that she wasn’t a young girl, but a woman maybe in her mother’s age. “Do you think that stopping the work of the Mine will bring the miners any good? Believe me, it won’t – it will ruin us all instead. The Mine _needs_ to run.”

Bluebell had no idea what her reply to that should be. Ásta’s voice and her serious gaze made her afraid and even more unsure.

“What should I do then?” she asked, not as much the dwarf as she did herself. “Just stand by and watch?”

“Think,” Ásta said with a small smile tugging the corners of her mouth up, and let Bluebell go. The red bracelet flashed on her wrist. “And ask such questions before you act. If you are clever enough.” At such words, Bluebell couldn’t suppress a huff; if she was proud of something, it was her cleverness. If there’s a way, she would figure it out. A piece of advice or an explanation here and there wouldn’t go amiss, though. Now, each day she felt more and more lost.

Without giving her time to brace herself, Ásta grabbed Bluebell’s hand and shook it firmly. “And I hope you are, Bluebell Baggins, because I like you and I would be pleased to see you again.” Then she turned abruptly and walked to the door. Bluebell gaped at her for a heartbeat and then rushed to catch her before she left.

“I certainly would be too,” she blurted out, loud enough to make Ásta stop. She might have get used to the dwarves’ hands everywhere, but Bluebell wasn’t bold enough to grab Ásta’s arm, even if she wanted to keep her here. “Please, come visit – I usually stay here, when I’m not leading a strike, that is,” she added, matching the dwarf’s small smile.

“Thank you, I am going to do so very soon. But reconsider your actions with the miners,” Ásta repeated, and her face changed again. Even though she still smiled, there was something serious, or even scared, in her gaze. “You may not have your beasts in the East, but we _do_ have ours here.”

Having said that, she went out and closed the door behind her very quietly. Bluebell was left alone, only with her questions to accompany her. They haven’t left her during scrubbing the baking pans and preparing dinner; to clear her mind from them she even set herself to translation of the introduction of her _Quenta Silmarillion_ into the common speech. It didn’t help her, though, and therefore, when Belladonna came back home in the early evening, she found her daughter curled up in the still empty living room, with her eyes opened wide and nails bitten to almost nothing.

“Oh Bell, honey,” she whispered and knelt beside her to hug her daughter close. “My dearest girl.”

Bluebell leaned into the embrace with a deep, shaky sigh. Belladonna smelled of fresh sweat, harsh dwarven soap, and something metallic – Bluebell wondered if it was the gold of Erebor. She didn’t spare much thought on her mother’s reaction to her actions, expecting from her nothing but compassion; only now she wondered whether Belladonna agreed with her views on the Mine’s affairs. Assuming that she had clear views, of course – which, after these hours of constant thinking and re-thinking the events of these last weeks, wasn’t so obvious anymore.

“What do you want to do? Do you really want to lead the strike?” Belladonna’s voice was silent, concerned, like it always was when she tried to understand her daughter’s concerns. “Are you sure that it is the right thing to do?”

“I am not sure of anything,” Bluebell admitted, shifting to make herself and Belladonna more comfortable. “I just feel that the miners have been wronged, and I would like to do something, but I don’t know what. I don’t even know their demands, and all of a sudden everyone thinks I lead them against the king. I had guests today,” she said after a while. “Nís came here to scold me, and she brought her sister-in-law with her. Her name’s Ásta and she’s nice.” She took a deep breath and turned her head so that she could face her mother. “But they both told me not to interfere. Like I was storming the king’s quarters with a sword in hand and an army of miners behind me,” she added bitterly. They all were treating her like she _could_ do something – the king, the miners, the noble dwarves – and yet, even if she was right and there was something wrong in the Mine, she had no means whatsoever to set it right.

“The army isn’t a problem, Bell, honey,” Belladonna huffed and stroke her daughter’s hair in a calming manner. “The problem is… well, defining the problem. What do you want to stand up against.” She got up, dragging Bluebell up as well. In the weak light coming from the hall Bluebell could see rare seriousness on her mother’s face. An expression she didn’t like seeing at all, because it reminded her of too many unpleasant things. “You must examine all facts before you get into something, Bell, honey. Learn from the miners. Learn from the king. Don’t repeat my errors, love.”

Not giving Bluebell the chance to protest, Belladonna marched to the kitchen, rambling loudly and cheerily about the supper and bread-baking, and how great it would be to host the dwarf ladies on elevensies someday. She was all smiles and uncoordinated hand gestures now, just like she always was, and even if Bluebell didn’t fall for it, she was comforted nevertheless. Belladonna’s chatter made her relax, though she knew that the thoughts about the Mine didn’t leave any of them. She looked at her plate and took a bite of the bread she baked today. And then someone knocked to the door, lightly and nervously. The bread in Bluebell’s mouth suddenly became dry as woodchips.

“Not again,” she muttered and got up to open the door. Belladonna went just behind her, worried and serious again. For a second Bluebell wondered if the king or his people commented her actions to Belladonna, if they threated to cancel the contract with her. Another thing that she didn’t consider when she shouted at the king. Then the knocking repeated, just a tone louder than before, waking Bluebell from her thoughts.

“Just open the door, Bell, honey.”

So she did, but in the darkness outside she could barely see anybody behind it.

“May the Maker’s blessings fall upon this house and its residents,” the guest whispered and Bluebell recognised the voice with a small gasp of shock. It was the miner who supported her in front of the king. “I would like to speak with you, lassie.”

“Please come in, then,” Belladonna invited as quietly, tugging deeply shocked Bluebell on the elbow. “And join us on the supper.”

The dwarf entered the hall, closed the door behind her almost soundlessly and followed the hobbits to the kitchen. In the light Bluebell saw that the guest’s hands and face were covered in dark dust, and her hair hidden under a dark shawl. A small cloud of dust puffed into the air when she took it off, shifting unsurely on her feet and looking nervously at the walls.

“I am sorry to disturb you so late,” she said, still in a whisper. Bluebell forced a smile on her face and shook her head, inviting the dwarf to take a seat with a gesture. She wasn’t sure if suggesting the guest to clean herself would be considered rude, but she laid a soaked cloth on the table just in case it wouldn’t. “My name is Nanna, daughter of Níali, and I came here to thank you for what you did today in the Mine.”

“But I didn’t…”

“Let’s discuss it after supper, shall we?” Belladonna interjected, setting a plate of soup and several slices of bread before Nanna. Bluebell sat down quickly, grateful for the distraction, but she couldn’t not look at the dwarf from the corner of her eye. Nanna wiped the insides of her palms, leaving black thick strokes on the cloth, and after a while of looking at the plate with a thoughtful scowl on her face, she finally set into eating. The hobbit spoon looked like a child’s toy in her big, dark hands.

“It’s very good,” the dwarf said after a while, not looking at either of them. “Very good indeed. I see that you are a woman of various talents, Bluebell Baggins of the Shire.”

Bluebell wanted to reply with a comment depreciating the supper – it was the appropriate reaction for a praise, after all – but Belladonna kicked her under the table, so she remained silent. She noticed, though, that Nanna didn’t eat any of the bread, but just wolfed down the soup quicker and quicker.

“Thank you,” Nanna said finally, without rising her eyes. She looked worn out and wretched, and Bluebell felt the sudden urge to stuff her with another serving of soup straightaway. “Both for the food and for the support in the Mine. It means to us a lot.”

“But I didn’t do anything,” Bluebell protested, and it earned her another kick in her ankle. She hissed in pain, which made the dwarf finally look at her. “I _really_ didn’t do anything. I just…” she trailed off, looking hopelessly at her mother. _Think_ , Belladonna mouthed without uttering a sound. Bluebell inhaled deeply and looked straight in the dark eyes of the dwarf. “What is making you protest, missis Nanna? Is it…”

“Hunger,” replied the dwarf, and Bluebell averted her eyes from the heavy gaze. “With the wages we get, it’s getting impossible to feed oneself, let alone a family. We want the king to pay in copper, and two coins more for each shift, but all he is offering is gold,” she added bitterly. Bluebell blinked, not sure if she heard correctly.

“Is it a bad thing?” she asked, and the dwarf let out a bark of laughter. “I’m – I’m sorry if I’m wrong, but isn’t gold more, well, _precious_?”

“Not in Erebor. There’s too much of it, you can’t buy anything with it,” Nanna explained with a sigh. She ran a hand over her face, leaving smudges everywhere. “If you want to survive here, you need copper, or even better silver to buy food, and the greedy creature denies us these.”

“He’s investing,” Belladonna said quietly, with a deep frown on her face. “We are going to install lifts, and pressure ventilation, and…”

“Increase the yield,” Nanna snorted, “so instead receiving ninety coppers for a gold coin, I’ll be getting what, fifty? That’s no help for us, Chief Engineer, with all due respect.”

Belladonna dropped in her seat, as if her whole cheer disappeared into the thin air. Bluebell wanted to poke her foot underneath the table with her big toe – they used to do it during long family dinners, another code no one knew about – but missed and hit herself on the table leg. The hiss she gave out after that almost echoed in the kitchen. Nanna startled and stood up, her mouth set in a thin line.

“I shouldn’t have come here,” she spat out and went through her pockets. She tossed several copper coins on the table; some of them rolled down and hit the stone floor with a loud sound. “That’s for the supper.” Having said that, Nanna rushed towards the door.

“Wait!” Bluebell all but screamed, and when it didn’t help, she jumped off her seat and chased the dwarf. This time she was bold enough – she caught Nanna’s arm just before she opened the entrance door. “I didn’t mean… Please do come back,” she asked, letting Nanna’s sleeve. The dwarf, still visibly angry, shot her a suspicious glance from under her knotted brows. “The thing is, I really don’t understand…”

“We are foreigners here.” Belladonna appeared in the hall as well; she was still dejected, but there was a spark of hope in her face. “We don’t grasp all nuances, but surely… there must be a way of conciliation…?”

“I told you – the miners and their families are running _hungry_.” The words were hard as stones, each loaded with cold, bitter fury. “I don’t know what more explanation you need. I – I hoped that you had compassion in you, but…”

Bluebell shut of the rest of Nanna’s passionate speech. Something finally clicked in her mind and it fit. The miners and their families were running hungry, and she didn’t need any more explanation.

“Don’t move by an inch!” she demanded and turned on her heel. Disregarding Nanna’s surprised gasp and the scandalised _Bell, honey!_ of her mother, she rushed to the kitchen, wrapped the intact loaf of bread in a clean towel, together with some cheese and slices of dried meat which she found disgusting but dwarves seemed to consider a rare delicacy. With the bundle in her hand, she grabbed the coins from the table, hitting herself on the elbow by this damned highly placed edge, and run back to the hall.

“There,” she huffed, pressing the bundle into the dwarf’s hands. Nanna uttered some incoherent protests, mumbling something about her not being a beggar. Now, when all the things finally clicked in, Bluebell couldn’t but feel irritation that someone didn’t follow the course of her thoughts. “Oh, shut up and take it,” she urged, and then added, “this is not for you, anyway. Take it to the ones who you know that are in the direst need.”

“I came here for support, not alms,” Nanna said, shifting on her feet again. Her hands were leaving black smudges on the towel, but she didn’t try to give it back now.

“And that’s the support I can offer now,” Bluebell said, shaking her head. She felt Belladonna’s warm palm on her shoulder and she felt – for the first time in many months – that she was doing exactly the right thing. “I can’t fight with something I don’t understand. But feed some hungry people, that I surely can do. Go now,” she added with a sigh. These visits were a tiring matter; cousin Lobelia has been right in saying that one should receive no more than two calls a day. “I have bread to bake.”

It seemed that Nanna finally got the idea, because she gave both hobbits small smile and a nod. Then she went out into the darkness of the Eastern hall, and Bluebell headed towards the kitchen. Strikers aside, there was still plenty of this nice soup to eat off. 


End file.
